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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 



Secrets of the Sanctum 



AN 



INSIDE VIEW OF AN EDITOR'S LIFE. 



BY 






AUTHOR OF " OUR BOYS, 



A. F. HILL, 

"THE WHITE ROCKS," "JOHN SMITH'S FUNNY ADVENTURES 
ON A CRUTCH," ETC., ETC., ETC. 



.' J 



PHILADELPHIA: 
CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER, 

624, 626 & 628 Market Street. 

1875. 



T *# 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 

CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



J. FAGAN & SON, 
STEREOTYPE FOUNDERS, 

PHILADELPHIA. *£ 
XrH. ^J* 



cduatiotu 



TO THE FRA TERNITY: 

To the Editor; 
To the Reporter; 

To the Correspondent; 
To the Contributor; 

To the Proof-Reader ; 
To the Copy-Holder; 

To the Pressman; 
To the Foreman; 

To the Compositor; in a word, 
To the Devil, 

The Author most Attectionately dedicates his 
"SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM." 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 
Editors' Qualifications 9 

CHAPTER II. 
The Reporters 16 

CHAPTER III. 
The City Editor 29 

CHAPTER IV. 
Certain Repprterial Work 31 

CHAPTER V. 
Slang 46 

CHAPTER VI. 
Interviewing 55 

CHAPTER VII. 
Jenkins 60 

CHAPTER VIII. 
The Editorial Rooms 65 



* 



V 



VI CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER IX. 
Editors' Work . . . . 68 

CHAPTER X. 
Book-Reviewing 92 

CHAPTER XL 
Editors' Personal Characteristics 96 

CHAPTER XII. 
Effects of Brain-Work 107 

CHAPTER XIII. 
My "Assistant" in 

CHAPTER XIV. 
The Religion of Editors .122 

CHAPTER XV. 
The Pay of Newspaper Men 131 

CHAPTER XVI. 
Dead-Heading 140 

CHAPTER XVII. 
The Bohemian 146 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
The Printers 154 

CHAPTER XIX. 
Proof 170 



CONTENTS. Vll 

CHAPTER XX. 
Typographic Errors . . .176 

CHAPTER XXI. 
Punctuation .183 

CHAPTER XXII. 
Our Orthography .186 

CHAPTER XXIII. 
A Bad Editor 192 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The " Enunciator " . . . . . . . . 204 

CHAPTER XXV. 
"My Friend George" 221 

CHAPTER XXVI. 
The Bore 231 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A Noted Libel Suit 242 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 
The Gallows 255 

CHAPTER XXIX. 
"Tricks of the Trade" ....... 268 

CHAPTER XXX. 
Humors of Journalism 284 



Vlil CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 
Primitive Journalism 297 

CHAPTER XXXII. 
Our Dailies and Weeklies 304 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 
One Word More 310 



SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 



CHAPTER I. 

EDITORS' Q UALIFICA TIONS. 

EDITORS of newspapers, together with poets, novelists, 
historians, and other literary men, are looked upon by a 
numerous class of persons, who seldom or never come in contact 
with them, as very superior beings. The merchant, the banker, 
the mechanic and clerk in the city — and even the plowboy in 
the country — unconsciously learn to associate in their minds a 
mysterious dignity with the unseen being whose brain conceives 
what appears "in print," to be read by thousands and hundreds 
of thousands. l They realize that, while their own sphere is 
very narrow, that of the. writer, whose thoughts are placed in 
type and repeated to thousands, is in a manner illimitable. So 
they naturally grow to regard the invisible writer with feelings 
akin to veneration. It is not entirely unreasonable. If there 
is anything that ought to raise one man above another, as a 
man, it would seem to be intellectual power, rather than 
wealth, a proud ancestry, physical strength, or a fine personal 
appearance. 

Those not familiar with the literary man are perhaps a little 
too prone almost to apotheosize him — picturing him as tall, 

9 



10 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

dignified, commanding, and exceptionally "fine-looking." In 
this they err. As a rule, editors and authors are not strikingly 
handsome, and, moving unknown in a miscellaneous crowd, 
few of them would be picked out as probable men of mark. 
One of the homeliest men I ever saw, although not disfigured, 
was an editor, and an unusually brilliant one, as well as a rare 
poet, wit and satirist. It was years ago that I last saw him, 
and he is now at rest ; but when I recall him I do not think of 
his unsymmetrical features, his commonplace form, his tangled 
and neglected hair, his fading eyesight, his careless dress : I 
remember only the brilliant mind and noble soul that grew 
deeper into nature than the ephemeral body. I refer to George 
D. Prentice, of the Louisville Journal, whose keen wit and stir- 
ring humor made millions laugh, whose trenchant satire made 
many a political opponent "writhe." He had some bitter 
enemies while living, but in his grave he is remembered by all 
as a warm-hearted, pure and upright man. 

Among the first in the catalogue of men who will always be 
rated as famous American journalists, the name of Horace 
Greeley naturally finds a place. Indeed, he was foremost 
among the founders of enterprising journalism in America 
under the new order of things, in the epoch of steam-power 
presses, and other wonderful machinery of late years introduced 
in printing-offices. He was the son of a common New Hamp- 
shire farmer, and was a green, awkward country boy when he 
left his home to seek employment in a large city. If at that 
time he had told his simple neighbors that he proposed to 
become an editor, he would of course have been laughed at, and 
that very immoderately. 

This brings me to one of the subjects first to be considered 
in this volume — the aspirations of young persons to be writers. 
It would scarcely be an exaggeration to say that twelve of every 



EDITORS' QUALIFICATIONS. II 

dozen young people who find themselves capable of writing a 
few acceptable verses, or a correctly-worded communication to 
a newspaper, begin to entertain notions of writing regularly for 
the press. The truth is, every one, no matter what his occupa- 
tion may be, ought to be able to write a sensible and grammatic 
letter, either to a newspaper or to a friend. 

It does not therefore follow that every one who can write 
well enough to "appear in print" creditably is qualified to be 
an editor, or to make writing for the press his regular calling. 
Journalism is a business, as much as watch-making, blacksmith- 
ing, banking, farming, or navigation. It is generally conceded 
among all classes that a youth should be trained to follow the 
business for which he exhibits the greatest taste, and in the 
mysteries of which he at least shows signs of some tact. Now, 
the actual duties of a journalist are little comprehended by the 
general public ; and when I treat of this subject at some length 
in another chapter, it will be understood that great misconcep- 
tions of them exist outside of the fraternity. 

It is a remark often made, that "everybody thinks he could 
run a newspaper. ; ' It looks so easy — in fact, the newspaper 
seems to run itself, in a manner, if only let alone. Yet it hap- 
pens that, of all vocations, professional or mechanical, journal- 
ism is one of the most difficult to master. The reasons for this 
are numerous. There are few rules — a very few general rules — 
by which to be guided ; work that would answer in one com- 
munity would . not answer in another ; work that would be 
satisfactory in one establishment would not be satisfactory in 
another, even though it might be in the same city or commu- 
nity ; what would be all right at one time would be all wrong 
at another ; and, in fact, in no office, in no city or community, 
and at no time, could the editor please everybody, even though 
he possessed the attribute of omniscience. 



12 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Thus, only long years of experience, and patient, unweary- 
ing application, backed by a natural fund of common sense and 
sound judgment, and a taste for the business, can ever make a 
proficient editor. When a writer has been five years a journal- 
ist, he has just gained one most essential point, namely, a proper 
sense of how little he knows and how much is yet to be learned. 
When he has spent an additional five years in various offices — 
daily and weekly — he discovers that there is still something 
new to be learned almost every day. This view may appear 
discouraging ; but the man who intends to adopt journalism as 
his business, and is ambitious to deserve the title of editor, 
may as well make up his mind at the start that he has a stupen- 
dous task before him, and prepare to look upon his first three or 
four years of labor in that sphere as a rigorous apprenticeship, 
in which he must work hard and exercise an uncommon amount 
of patience. 

Yes, almost any one can be an editor — after a fashion. A 
rich man may become an editor, or make one of his son or 
nephew, on the shortest notice. There is nothing to prevent 
his buying or renting a building adapted to his purpose, having 
the requisite materials put in, hiring the necessary labor, and 
"starting" a newspaper, with his name, or that of his protege, 
on it as the editor. This he may do without possessing the 
slightest knowledge of the business, and he may continue to 
" edit" and publish his paper just as long as he chooses to sink 
certain sums of money in the enterprise ; but he will surely 
never make it a success unless he intrust its management to 
experienced hands, the services of which his money may com- 
mand. Then he is only the editor in name, but is no more an 
editor in fact, and has no more made himself one by this pro- 
cess, than a man who never handled a hatchet or saw in his life 
would make a carpenter of himself by buying a chest of tools 
and employing a real carpenter to use them. 



EDITORS" QUALIFICATIONS. 13 

In country districts, where journalism has not advanced 
nearly so far as it has in large cities, persons not infrequently 
become ''editors" by buying and taking the control of weekly 
papers, or by setting up and conducting small newspaper 
establishments with a few hundred dollars. Many of these who 
pass for "editors" year after year in their own communities 
were merely born to blush unseen, and waste their talents on 
the rural air. They will never make their mark in journalism, 
for the good and sufficient reason that "it is not in them." 
Many a good mechanic, farmer, school-teacher, yea, and 
printer, has been spoiled in the process of making a poor 
editor. 

There are a number of qualifications that are indispensable 
to success as a newspaper editor. Among them are a thorough 
knowledge of grammar in its various branches, notably syntax 
and orthography; a clear and active brain; a good memory; 
familiarity with ancient and modern history, and with the 
leading events of the day; an aptness for writing at once 
rapidly and correctly; and an unusual command of language. 

Who has not sent "voluntary contributions" to newspapers, 
only to have them rejected? I remember that at a "tender 
age" I sent a "poem" to a country newspaper, (to which I 
had repeatedly, though at respectable intervals, sent contribu- 
tions that were either "respectfully declined" or "treated 
with silent contempt,") and it was accepted and published — 
printed, strangely enough, without even one typographic 
error. I also remember that I experienced an amount of 
delight at first seeing one of my "effusions" "in print," to 
describe which just now I have no adequate words at hand; 
also, that I vainly (yes, vainly) thought I saw in myself the 
germ of a great poet. Probably it was "great poetry." Had 
I then been familiar with some of the really meritorious verses 



14 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

written by such poets as Dryden, Bryant, and Drake, at the age 
of from eight to ten years, I must have been impressed with 
such an awful sense of their superiority over my own boyish 
"poetry" as would effectually have cured me of poetic aspira- 
tions. I think I may venture the opinion that there are not 
many actual poets in the world. 

To have a manuscript rejected, as of too little merit even for 
publication, after one has spent hours, and perhaps days, in 
elaborating and amplifying it, and after he has flattered him- 
self — as, of course, . he has — that it is an extraordinary pro- 
duction, has an extremely depressing effect upon the spirits of 
the ambitious writer, rivaling even that refined soul-torture one 
endures just after getting up from the gaming-table at which he 
has lost his last hundred dollars. Indeed, I know of no keener 
mental anguish — while it lasts ; but the sharp edge of the agony 
soon wears off, and the chances are that scarcely a week elapses 
before the literary aspirant tries it again, once more braving the 
awful contingence of the receipt of a "respectfully declined" 
manuscript. When a certain editor had grown to be able to 
look back and smile at these little disappointments, he, a few 
years ago, through the columns of a Boston paper, addressed 
his respects to an unaccepted literary production after the fol- 
lowing fashion : 

TO A REJECTED MANUSCRIPT. 

Thou thing ! I pity thee. I hate thee, too; 

For I have spent some labor on thee, now 

Thou dost come back to me, without regard 

To feelings — which are very sensitive. 

Thou contribution — thou gratuitous 

Piece for a paper; yea, thou article ! 

Thou lucubration, which I deemed should rend 

The heavens and the earth — convulse mankind — 



EDITORS' QUALIFICATIONS. 1 5 

Make men of women, women of vile men — 
Make mighty presidents, and unmake kings — 
Uproot society and shake from its 
Foundation ev'ry boasted work of man — 
Thou — thou rejec — respectfully declined? 
I do despise thee, fiend ! 

For thee I burned 
The midnight oil ; for thee I racked my brain 
To frame each sentence with a with'ring power — 
Searched Noah Webster through and through to get 
The proper word ; for thee consulted all 
The latest rules in rhetoric; for thee 
Sat all alone at midnight's ghastly hour, 
When ev'ry eye within the domicile 
Was sealed, except mine own ! 

Thou graceless thing ! 
I feel that I could clutch thee up and rend — 
Tear — burn — destroy thee — let the hissing flames 
Enwrap themselves about thy hateful form 
And feed on thee with grim voracity ! 

But I'll be calm, and nothing do in haste. 
In fact, now that I think, I'll lock thee up 
For thy offence ; and when I bring thee forth 
Into the light again, thou wayward thing, 
Re — vise thee ! 



1 6 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE REPORTERS. 

THERE are but few thorough editors who have not, at one 
time or other, been reporters ; and there are many excel- 
lent newspaper men who do both editing and reporting with equal 
facility — alternating ''inside" and "outside" work. In fact, 
it is next to indispensable that a finished editor, particularly 
one who is called upon to assume the editorial management or 
the city editorship of a daily newspaper, shall have acquired a 
clear knowledge of the duties of a reporter. He often has to 
give specific instructions to the reporter ; and how shall he do it, 
unless he has had experience in that line himself? There are 
many, however, who are distinctively reporters, and who so 
remain all their lives, without ever once taking a place in the 
sanctum, to do "inside" work. This by no means indicates 
a lack of journalistic ability, but is often due to a mere prefer- 
ence for "outside" work, or to the force of circumstances. 
Many a reporter prefers to be a reporter. The editor must sit 
in his chair all day, or nearly all night, as the case may be, 
while the reporter is " in and out," rarely being confined to 
the not-very-cheerful rooms of the newspaper for any consider- 
able length of time. 

A thorough reporter, competent to perform any task that may 
be assigned him, must be a phonographic or "short-hand" 
writer, for the most rapid penman, who is not a short-hand 
writer, cannot report in full a long speech, debate, trial in 
court, the proceedings of a meeting, or the deliberations of a 
legislative body. In all cases where every word is to be 
reported a phonographist is indispensable. Yet there are many 



THE REPORTERS. 1 7 

reporters, regularly employed on large dailies, who are not 
short-hand writers, but who nevertheless perform their duties 
just as well as though they were. Such a reporter is frequently 
sent to meetings, courts, etc., when only a general outline or 
abstract report of speeches or trials is desired ; he collects the 
items at the police-stations, making certain daily or nightly 
rounds for that purpose ; or he goes out to the suburbs to gather 
the particulars of any interesting event, such as a public 
disaster, or a crime, to make brief notes thereof, and to hurry 
back to the office and " write it up " from them in time for the 
next edition of the paper. 

The reporter is a news-gatherer, and, if he is a good one, he 
will aim to collect all the facts possibly obtainable relative to 
any event he is detailed to write up, and to relate them in good, 
plain and simple language. The amount of space accorded to 
any one specific event must be determined by its importance, 
together with a consideration of the whole amount of available 
space. Sometimes an unimportant item may be "crowded 
out," or "left over," to make room for a full report of a very 
important affair. The city editor, through whose hands every 
local paragraph should pass, regulates this matter. On occa- 
sions he finds it necessary to "cut down " or amplify a para- 
graph, but this he does not often find necessary when the 
reporter is a competent and sagacious one. 

Common defects in the style and idiom of many reporters 
might here be appropriately pointed out, with advantage, I trust, 
to at least a few who may read this volume. The subject is 
one which I almost hesitate to take up, not only because of its 
extensive proportions, but also because I shrink from what 
might seem an attitude of pedantry. Both these considera- 
tions, however, are overcome by the conviction that I should 
fail to do my whole duty should I neglect to refer to this sub- 



l8 SECKETS OF THE SANCTUM.. 

ject; and when I do refer to it, I do so after the manner of the 
ghost in Hamlet, "more in sorrow than in anger." 

But let me not 'be understood as imputing all the blunders 
that occur in the public press to ignorance on the part of the 
writers. Such blunders, as every newspaper-man knows, are 
often due to the hurry that is inseparable from the preparation 
of daily newspapers. I have seen some of the most ludicrous 
bulls and anachronisms perpetrated by the ablest editors in 
moments of hurry — a few examples of which will be found on 
another page. ~* 

Nevertheless, there are men engaged in the business of re- 
porting who have no natural or acquired fitness for its duties, 
and who are cursed with a poverty of language, and an imper- 
fect knowledge of its proper use, that ought to have strongly 
suggested to them the choosing of some other vocation — one 
in which ' ' the less they would have had to say, the better, ' ' 
and especially one in which they would seldom have been called 
upon to put their thoughts in writing. 

When a man or boy concludes to be a reporter, he ought to 
determine to be a good one ; and I would suggest the following 
as the first bit of instruction that should be strongly impressed 
upon him : 

" Say what you have to say in plain and clear language ; avoid all redun- 
dance, all high-sounding, far-fetched and foreign phrases ; be as accurate, 
truthful and direct as though you were speaking from the witness-stand ; as 
careful as though you were shooting at a target for a wager : let your object 
be first to see your mark distinctly, then to hit it exactly." 

One of the "drunkest" men ever seen in the street stated 
that he and his brother were engaged in the advancement of 
the temperance cause, adding : " He lectures on the evils of 
drunkenness, while I set a frightful example." Probably he 



THE REPORTERS. 1 9 

did the more effective work of the two. In any event, I shall 
proceed with my instructions to reporters by citing (not setting, 
I hope) a few frightful examples. I find the following para- 
graph in a leading New York daily : 

Fatal Accident. — An old widow woman, eighty years of age, named 
Mrs. Mary Clark, residing at No. — East Thirtieth Street, was found, at a late 
hour last night, lying at the foot of the hall stairs in an unconscious and 
dying condition, and soon afterward expired. She had probably fallen 
down the stairs while ascending to her room. The coroner was notified. 

Here, the reporter sets out by stating that the subject of his 
paragraph was "old," and almost immediately afterward gives 
her age as eighty years. If he intended to mention the age of 
the deceased, I cannot imagine why he should also say she was 
"old" — except that he feared the reader might think Mrs. 
Mary Clark was a young woman or a little girl ' ' eighty years 
of age," although few people are considered very young at that 
age. 

Next, he informs the reader that the widow was a " woman," 
thus discouraging the popular delusion that a widow may in some 
instances be a male instead of a female. It is to be wondered 
at that the fulsome writer of the paragraph neglected to inform 
the public that the widow's husband was dead. It seems to me 
that this reporter might well have saved himself the trouble of 
writing several superfluous words, and still have been as clearly 
understood by the reader of news, if he had begun the paragragh, 
after writing its head, thus : 

Mrs. Mary Clark, a widow, aged eighty years, residing, etc. 

I believe that the average reader would not have fallen into 
the error of thinking that Mary Clark was a man — and her 
name would have suggested that she was a female, without 
adding "woman" to "widow;" nor would she have been 



20 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

deemed a little boy or girl, or a very young woman, in the 
absence of the word "old," as "aged eighty years" cannot 
be construed into meaning extreme youth. If the reporter had 
written of a "colorless liquid without color," or an "impon- 
derable substance without perceptible weight," he would have 
made himself scarcely more ridiculous. On a par with the 
defective paragraph above quoted, is one recently announcing 
the " death of a wealthy citizen of New York, worth a million 
dollars. ' ' The reader might have been allowed to judge whether 
the man "worth a million dollars" was wealthy or not. / 
think he was : Rothschild, Vanderbilt, Astor, or Stewart 
mightn't think so. 

Again: I find, under the head of "Accidents," also in a 
first-class New York daily : 

Charlie Jones, a little boy of five years, fell into a cistern at, etc. 

This is another "frightful example" of plethoric reporting. 
The reader is first told of the existence of a person named 
Charlie Jones, and is then informed that Charlie is a "little 
boy," not a little girl; then, having been told that he is a 
"little" boy, he is told that the "little" boy is five years old; 
just as though anybody ever saw a big boy or a grown-up man 
of the age of five years ! " Charlie Jones, five years old," etc., 
would have been clear enough — would it not ? 

There are daily hundreds of instances in which this ludicrous 
redundance of expression occurs in the work of careless — or 
shall I say, ignorant? — reporters. Astounding defects are 
found in the local columns of many first-class daily newspapers. 
For example, you take up your morning paper and read that a 
man — a victim of accident or violence — was " covered over ' ' 
with blood, and you may be pardoned for wondering why the 
word "over" was necessary, as "covered" expresses the whole 



THE REPORTERS. 21 

meaning. You also read that something was done "in the 
meantime," whereas the word "meantime" alone would 
have expressed what was wished understood. You also read 
that John Smith was struck over the head. Now, if John re- 
ceived the blow over the head, he had a fortunate escape ; for if 
the weapon or missile went over his head it went above it, and 
so missed him altogether. Probably he was struck on the head. 
A man may receive a blow or a wound over the eye or knee — 
not over the head. 

There is no doubt but that the man will be arrested, as skillful detectives 
are on his track. 

In this sentence the public is informed that there is but a 
single doubt in the case, that doubt being that the offender will 
be arrested ; his being arrested is the only doubtful thing about 
it. What is meant is: ''There is no doubt that the man will 
be arrested." That makes it right; put in the word "but" 
where it is not wanted, and the meaning is exactly reversed. 
I mention this execrable solecism, because it is one almost 
■constantly perpetrated by careless writers for the public 
press. 

Jacob Jones died Sunday. 

If you heard some one read this, and so did not see the 
orthography of the word "died," you might ask, "What color 
did he dye it?" The word "on" should precede the name of 
the day, in this case, just as much as the word "in " should be 
used in its place in this sentence : " He did the work in his 
office." If you omit the word " on " in the sentence announc- 
ing the death of Mr. Jones, you may as well omit the preposi- 
tion "at" in the sentence: "The train will go at eight 
o'clock." How would it sound to say: "The train will go 



22 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

eight o'clock." I couldn't go it. This ma}' appear like a 
trifling matter, and I have only been induced to allude to it at 
all by the fact that I have frequently seen this defect in the news 
paragraphs of some of the most carefully-conducted papers in 
the country. Besides, it is but proper to point out even the 
smallest of every-day errors, that they may eventually be cor- 
rected, for whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing aright; 
and it is highly important that the language of newspapers — the 
educators of the masses — should be brought as nearly to per- 
fection as possible, and as soon as possible. Let the reader ask 
himself whether this is not true, before he pronounces me 
hypercritical or pedantic. 

As already hinted, errors of a novel and amusing character 
sometimes find their way into the manuscripts of the brightest 
journalists, owing, mainly, to the rush and hurry incident to 
their work. I cite the following sentence, from an article 
relating to a certain cemetery, which appeared (the article, not 
the cemetery itself,) in a Boston daily with which I was con- 
nected at the time, the bull being no less amusing because it 
was the work of The Editor himself: 

Owing to a disputed title, doubts arose as to the permanence of the ceme- 
tery, and therefore but few were ever interred there, many of whom have 
since been exhumed and recommitted to the earth in other cemeteries. 

When you come to subtract mcuiy from a few, all your 
mathematical skill must be called into requisition tc 
an approximate idea of how many are left. 

A companion to this is the following paragraph, taken from 
an Associated Press dispatch from New Orleans, relating to the 
sinking of the steamer Empire : 

Several passengei's left the boat upon her arrival, otherwise the loss of 
life would have been very large. As it is, eighteen passengers and many 
of the crew are believed to be drowned. 



THE REPORTERS. 2$ 

According to this, the fact that "several" (a few) passengers 
had left the boat, prevented a "large" loss of life. The 
second sentence, following the first, sounds very odd, too. 
"As it is" (any large loss of life having been averted by the 
escape of a few passengers), "eighteen passengers and many 
of the crew are believed to be drowned." If this was not a 
"large" loss of life, notwithstanding the escape of "several" 
passengers,- what would be considered a large loss of life ? In 
this bull, however, ridiculous as it looks, I see only evidence of 
the haste with which the man who sent the dispatch had to do 
his work. It was late at night, too, and I suppose that few 
news editors detected the singular defects of diction, or made 
any alterations in it. 

The following paragraph is from a leading London paper : 

In a dilapidated house in a narrow by-way, at the back of the Refuge 
in Newport-market, lived a man named John Bishop, who had been living 
for some time past with a woman named Ford in the second floor back. 
Bishop had lately been in the receipt of decent wages, and at times was 
addicted to drink. On Saturday night he returned home with about i/. 13J. 
6d. It is said he left his money on the mantel-shelf, and returning a short 
time afterward, missed a sovereign. He complained of his loss to deceased, 
but she denied having seen it. 

It will be perceived that down to where the word "deceased " 
occurs there is not the slightest allusion to a murder or a violent 
death of any kind, nor any hint as to which of the persons 
spoken of had so suddenly become "deceased." A person 
having read this much of the article might begin to wonder 
what the reporter was talking about. The account, however, 
goes on to state in detail that, after some quarreling, Bishop 
murdered the woman. The writer had the idea in his own 
head all straight enough, but allowed his thoughts to outrun 
his pen ; hence, he unconsciously obliged the readers of the 
paper to take something for granted merely because he knew it 



24 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

himself, and the result was somewhat novel. I can readily see 
how it might occur, and how it occasionally does occur, even 
with practiced writers. Such a lack of clearness, though, is the 
exception rather than the rule in the writings of the most pro- 
ficient journalists. 

Here is another curious paragraph, also from a London daily 
paper : 

The Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh left Balmoral Castle on Monday 
morning, and traveled by special train to Aberdeen, where they arrived at 
12 o'clock. After a brief stay, the Duke and Duchess left by the 12.23 
mail train for London. 

Here we are told that the Duke and Duchess arrived at Aber- 
deen at 12 o'clock, and that, "after a brief stay," they left just 
twenty-three minutes later. How could their stay have been 
otherwise than brief, if they arrived at 12 and departed at 12. 23 ? 
It is difficult to conceive by what means their Royal Highnesses 
could have stayed a day or two, or even a few hours, in Aber- 
deen, within the space of twenty-three minutes — unless, indeed, 
they possessed the power which Milton ascribes to the Almighty 
to "crowd eternity into an hour, or stretch an horn- into eter- 
nity." 

Accuracy is important in reporting, if reporting itself is of 
any importance, but it is not always strictly observed by a 
certain class of careless reporters or compilers of news para- 
graphs. For example, almost every day something like this 
may be read in our daily newspapers : 

John Brown, a well-known citizen of Binghamton, was instantly killed, 
on Thursday/ by being thrown from his horse. 

Very good, so far as it goes ; but where did the accident 
happen ? It might have been in Hong Kong, in Melbourne, 
or Constantinople, or in Palestine, so far as the information 



THE REPORTERS. 2$ 

goes ; for although it is stated that Mr. Brown was a citizen of 
Binghamton, it does not follow that he was killed there. 
Probably, in such a case, the accident did happen in or near 
Binghamton, and it is left to be taken for granted ; but as the 
Browns do not remain at home all their lives, and in fact are 
even proverbial for their rambling disposition, the writer should 
have said, "in that city," or "near that city," as the case 
may have been. 

There is lying before me a most carefully-conducted Phila- 
delphia paper, and, although I am certainly not on the look-out 
for something to carp at, one of the first of its local paragraphs 
to catch my eye is this : 

Shocking Accident. — George Drake, aged 33 years, had his left arm 
torn off at the elbow by having it caught in a belt at McCallum's mill. 

If this is news worth publishing at all — and I have no 
doubt it is — it should surely have been stated when and where 
the accident occurred. Both these essential points have been 
overlooked by the reporter, probably through the usual hurry ; 
and the reader is left in the dark as to whether the accident 
occurred yesterday, last week, or last year; also as to the location 
of McCallum's mill. True, it may be inferred, from the fact 
that the paragraph is found in the local columns, that the mill 
is somewhere in or near Philadephia; but in what quarter? in 
what ward ? near the junction of what two principal streets of 
that widely-extended city? All this the reporter allows to 
remain a mystery, and the reader — like a person who is told 
but half a secret — feels that he would rather have known 
nothing whatever of the story, if he cannot know the whole. 

I should make this chapter too long if I should refer at length 
to all the blunders and solecisms, of various grades of enormity, 
that are daily noticeable in the public press. As I am desirous, 
3 



26 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

then, that my labors shall result in "the greatest good to the 
greatest number," (including number one,) I will, as succinctly 
as possible, give some advice to the green or careless reporter. 

Young man, never say "a Mr. John Smith," or "one 
John Smith," as no one will make the mistake of supposing 
that John is more than one person. Plurality will not be even 
suspected when the name is so singular. 

Never say " lower down " or ." higher up," because an object 
could not be very low up or high down. 

Never say "a few moments," when you mean a few minutes, 
because a moment is an indefinite amount of time, however 
small. You might as well say "a mass of coal, about the size 
of five lumps of chalk." Our language is rich in clear words 
and expressions, and a fair idea of a small amount of time may 
always be conveyed by some such term as " a second," " a few 
seconds," " half a minute," or "a few minutes," as facts may 
warrant. 

Never say "full complement." The latter word alone 
means "full quantity," and the tautology in the former expres- 
sion would be just about evenly matched with that in such a 
term as "a white white house " or "a red red head." A man 
who would say "full complement," deserves no compliment 
at all. 

Never commence a report of a homicide in the suburbs by 
saying: "The quiet village of Cabbageville was startled and 
thrown into an intense state of feverish excitement by one of 
the most diabolical," etc. It's too horrible. Keep cool, and 
don't get your nerves worked up to any such a pitch. Be calm, 
and relate the mournful tale in fewer and milder words. Yet 
there are reporters who do begin an account of a murder in 
just such words as the above. 

Never say ' ' insane asylum, ' ' because, whatever may be the 



THE REPORTERS. 2*J 

mental condition of the inmates, the building itself is usually in 
its right mind, and has seldom been known to commit even an 
error of judgment. Say " lunatic asylum," or "asylum for 
the insane." 

Don't say that a man was "executed," when he was merely 
hanged (for some such little hereditary eccentricity as murdering 
his father, for instance). The sheriff did execute the sentence of 
death, but he only hanged the culprit. He did not execute him. 
You might as well say, when he takes a convict to the State 
Prison, that he "executes" him into the hands of the warden. 
In both cases it is merely the sentence that is executed. Never- 
theless, I am bound to say that " usage," that loose and careless 
teacher of language, has recognized this application of the term 
"execute" in cases of hanging (or beheading). Webster 
himself gives it a mild sanction ; while we also find in Shake- 
speare (Richard III., Act V., Scene 3): 

Lest being seen, 

Thy brother, tender George, be executed. 

Richard Grant White, the eminent philologist, however, 
deprecates the use of the word " execute " in this connection. 

Use plain language. Don't affect Latin or French, or words 
and phrases from any foreign or dead language. 

Don't go out of your way to hunt up rare words. Make rare 
words rarer still by using only words often used and well under- 
stood by all who read. 

If you speak of a dog, call it "a dog \ " do not say a "mam- 
mal of the genus cam's." To reiterate an old precept, "call a 
spade a spade," not "a metallic agricultural implement for dis- 
placing and rearranging the soil." 

Be not too positive in making your statements, especially 
when, by possible inaccuracy, they may unjustly work to the 



28 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

prejudice of any person, society, or institution. When there is 
the slightest room for doubt that a certain person did a certain 
discreditable thing, of which it becomes necessary to make any 
report at all, do not say he did it ; say it is " reported," " al- 
leged," " charged," or something of that noncommittal nature. 
This careful course would be dictated by a simple sense of jus- 
tice, even if there were no laws against libel, because many 
persons are suspected and charged with offences, arrested, and 
afterward found to be entirely innocent. I have a paper before 
me which gives a man's name, and says he "was arrested yes- 
terday for stealing a blanket. ' ' This is saying, in effect, that 
he did steal it — an assertion that no paper has a right to make 
before a man has been tried and convicted of the alleged offence. 
The reporter should have said that the man was arrested "ona 
charge of," or "charged with," stealing a blanket. 

Don't always be on the alert to be witty or droll, and don't 
constantly drag in far-fetched puns or outlandish and unusual 
expressions. A reporter is not employed as a humorist ; cer- 
tainly he is not in every case born one ; and as certainly he can 
never make himself one. There is such a thing as a good pun, 
and there is such a thing as real wit ; but both must be sponta- 
neous. No straining. A donkey might as well try to make his 
bray sound like the roar of a lion by straining his voice. 

I think I heard a legitimate pun once, on board of a steamer 
running between San Francisco and Panama, and I am sure it 
was spontaneous. Several passengers were discussing the prob- 
able nationality of a very tall and slim foreign lady who "put 
on" unusual "airs," and who, it was said, represented herself 
as belonging to a titled family. " I think she is a Swede," said 
one. "A Russian, more likely," ventured another, "/should 
say," remarked a waggish fellow of the group, "that she looks 
more like a Pole. ' ' 



THE CITY EDITOR. 2$ 

Young man, don't use the editorial "we." No reporter on 
a first-class daily thinks of doing so ; nor would it be allowed, 
if he did. The reporter is a news-gatherer, not an editor, and 
must give no opinions, although his position, if he fills it cred- 
itably, is a very honorable one. He must not say : " We learn 
that," etc. He will find ample scope of expression in such 
phrases as, "It is reported," "it is understood," "it is said," 
"it is rumored," "it is thought," etc., according to the 
strength which the statement may be allowed to assume. 

I have thus referred briefly to the shortcomings of many 
careless or inefficient reporters ; and while I urge accuracy and 
directness of language, I should regret to be understood as 
being captious or exacting ; nor do I claim that I myself should 
ever be so rigorous in the matter of accuracy as a certain 
"country editor," who thus quoted two lines of a hymn sung 
at a funeral he reported : 

Ten thousand thousand (10,000,000) are their tongues, 
But all their joys are one (1). 



CHAPTER III 

THE CITY EDITOR. 



NEWSPAPER men know well enough what reporters have 
to do, and how they do it ; but few persons outside the 
fraternity have any very clear idea of the inside workings of 
this or any other branch of journalism. As thousands of the 
readers of books and newspapers have never been inside of a 
newspaper office, a brief description of the rooms of the City 
Editor of a first-class daily newspaper in a large city will here 
3* 



30 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

be entirely in place. With this view, I cannot do better than 
to quote from a sketch that appeared in Packard 's Monthly a 
few years ago — Mr. S. S. Packard, the publisher, at present 
conducting Packard's Business College, in New York, having 
kindly given me permission to do so. The sketch from which 
I quote was one of a series written for Packard' s Monthly by 
Mr. Amos J. Cummings, a member of the New York Tribune 's 
editorial staff, and in which he gives very graphic descriptions 
of the whole machinery of the Tribune, which may well be 
taken as a pattern of American daily newspapers. The follow- 
ing is Mr. Cummings's description of the City Editor's room, in 
which the reporters receive their assignments to duty and daily 
return the results of their labors : 

The walls are covered with maps. A perpendicular viaduct, for commu- 
nication between the counting-, editorial-, and composing-rooms, with 
speaking-pipes, copy-boxes, and bells, runs from the low ceiling through 
the center of the room, like the succulent branch of a banyan tree. A 
small library of books relating to city affairs leans against the viaduct. A 
water-pail and a tin jar of ice-water occupy one corner of the room. Paste- 
pots and inkstands are scattered over the desks in lazy confusion. Bits of 
blotting-paper and scores of rusty-looking steel pens are strewn about the 
tables. A dozen reporters are seated at a dozen small green desks. Some 
are writing, a few are reading, and two are smoking briarwood pipes. The 
City Editor arrives at the office at 10 A. M., and immediately overhauls the 
morning papers, reading the advertisements with special care. Every an- 
nouncement of a political meeting, lecture, horse-race, excursion, real estate 
sale, execution, hotel-opening, steamboat-launch, etc., is clipped out and 
pasted in a blank book. At noon the reporters enter, and copy their assign- 
ments from the book, drawing a line under each of their names, to assure 
the City Editor that they are aware of their detail and will attend to it. 
Look at the book, and you will find such entries as these : 

John Allen's Prayer-Meeting, Water Street. 12 m. — White. 

American Geographical Society, Historical Society Rooms, Second Avenue and Eleventh 
Street, 8 p. m. — Meeker. 

Grant and Colfax Meeting, Broadway and Twenty-Second Street, 8 p. M. —Armani. 



CERTAIN REPORTERIAL WORK. 3 1 

Dog-fight at Kit Burns's, Water Street, 9 p. m. — Mix. 
Special service. — Gilbert. 

See Longstreet, and have an interview with him at New York Hotel ; make a column. — 
Gedney. 
Police headquarters. — Morey. 
Jefferson Market Police Court. — Mix. 
A two-column article on Local Nominations. — McGrew. 

Such is a brief extract from a description of the City Editor's 
rooms in the office of the New York Tribune. They are nearly 
the same in every large daily newspaper establishment in this 
country. 



CHAPTER IV. 

CERTAIN REPORTERIAL WORK. 

THE reporter's life is not an easy one. There could be no 
greater misconception of it than a belief that its duties are 
light. The Reporter has much hard and irksome labor to do ; 
he must often work beyond the time at which he sadly needs 
rest or refreshment ; he must do mental work requiring careful 
attention in noisy assemblages, often through the long hours 
of the night ; and is nearly always so hurried, so pressed for 
every minute of his time, that it is not strange if the brain is 
thrown into a state of confusion that wastes it too rapidly 
away. There is very little work done on a daily newspaper 
that is not done hurriedly — very little that could be delayed 
for a mere matter of ten or fifteen minutes. The editors, 
reporters, proof-readers, compositors, pressmen, folders and 
mailers all have to work pretty close to time. A delay of five 
minutes is often a serious matter. This may readily be believed 
when it is stated that a large morning paper, such as the New 
York Herald, contains as much matter as a volume the size of 



32 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

this work, and each issue of the paper must spring up into exist- 
ence in a night. 

Most of the reporters on a morning paper work at night, 
straining their eyes in dimly-lighted places and vexing the 
brain with labor during unnatural hours. They must sit in 
crowded halls, and, while they write with the rapidity of light- 
ning, listen intently to catch each word of a wheezy-voiced 
orator, sometimes at noisy and tumultuous political meetings, 
sometimes amid the uproar and confusion incident to a 
" stormy " session of a " deliberative " body. 

I cannot make this work what I think it should be without 
frequently referring to my own experience in journalism, and I 
trust that the generous critic and the generous public will 
exempt me from the imputation of deliberate egotism. Most 
experienced editors will bear me out in the assertion that if any 
young journalist is disposed to "think more highly of himself 
than he ought to think," a few years of thorough training will 
teach him better. I know of no vocation in the pursuit of 
which a man so soon finds out how unimportant he is in the 
wide world. Indeed, I believe that few persons ever reach pro- 
ficiency in the profession until they have "had the conceit 
taken out of them." 

To proceed : It once became my province to report the pro- 
ceedings of "the most numerous branch" of a certain State 
Legislature, in which, while it embraced a number of able men, 
the rural element was largely represented. The Speaker him- 
self, selected on account of his influence, was a leading politi- 
cian in a small city, and, I believe, a courteous gentleman, as 
regarded his private life ; but he was not a finished parliamen- 
tarian, unaccustomed to positions of mark, and failed to pre- 
side over the deliberations of "the House" with the calm 
demeanor, the stately ease and grace I have seen exhibited by 



CERTAIN REPORTERIAL WORK. 33 

the presiding officers of some legislative bodies. There are 
men who seem to have been born to preside over assemblages ; 
but this Mr. Speaker was not one of them. He was not calm ; 
he was not serene; he was not self-possessed; and he made 
many — I have to say it — blunders which, however amusing in 
a general way, were very annoying to "us reporters," whose 
duty it was faithfully to record the proceedings. For exam- 
ple: 

A gentleman arises to address "the Chair;" he is Mr. 
Miller, the member from Bedford ; he says : 

"Mr. Speaker:—" 

It is now the duty of the Speaker to "recognize" him in 
this form : 

"The gentleman from Bedford, Mr. Miller." 

Let him do this correctly and distinctly, and the reporter will 
proceed to write : 

"Mr. Miller, of Bedford, said that — " 

But our Speaker, owing to his inexperience, bashfulness and 
general unfitness for his position, finds it difficult to articulate 
the words, either plainly or connectedly. He sputters out : 

"The gentleman from Miller, Mr. Bedford." 

The reporter does not know Mr. Miller, and, following the 
confused and erring Speaker, proceeds to put him down as 
"Mr. Bedford," which is merely the name of the town he 
lives in — without the "Mr." 

A slight smile floats over a portion of the body at the 
Speaker's mistake, and he, becoming more confused and fright- 
fully red in the face, stammers : 

"The — the — Mr. — the gentleman from Bedler, Mr. Mil- 
ford." 

The smile extends like contagion; the reporter does not 
know what to write, or whether to write anything at all or not, 

C 



34 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

and the Speaker, whose confusion and mortification now amount 
to torture, tries it again, with this result : 

"The gentleman from Midford, Mr. Beller." 

The smile of the amused members who see the Speaker's 
blunder, and of others who did not at first notice it, merges 
into an "audible grin; " and the Speaker, earnestly wishing that 
the earth would open and swallow him up, makes one more 
desperate essay to announce the name of the waiting member, 
and in trembling and barely intelligible tones stammers : 

"The — ah — I would say, the gentleman from Melford — 
the bentleman from Jilford — the Mr. from Biddleford — the 
Middleford — the bentle — the Beddle — the middle — the 
meddle — the — ' ' 

By this time the House is in an uproar, and bursts of laughter, 
with no further attempt to restrain them, roll out like they do 
in the audience of a minstrel show when the comic part is at its 
height ; the Clerk gets up and whispers to the Speaker, who 
finally manages to " recognize " the member from Bedford ; but 
the reporter must have remained very attentive during the con- 
fusion, if he has succeeded in correctly understanding and 
recording the name of "Mr. Miller, of Bedford." If he has 
failed, he has no time now to ask the Clerk near whom he sits, 
(but will try to think of it before sending his manuscript to the 
office), for he must proceed, as the confusion subsides, to take 
down every word uttered by "the gentleman from Bedford, Mr. 
Miller." 

Another scene in the same deliberative body, same session, 
two days later than the foregoing : 

But let me preface it with a brief explanation. At the 
beginning of the session, and immediately after a permanent 
organization, each member has assigned to him a seat which he 
shall occupy every day during the whole session, which con- 



CERTAIN REPORTERIAL WORK. 35 

tributes toward making things smooth and orderly. That per- 
fect fairness may characterize the distribution of the seats, which 
are all numbered, they are drawn after the manner of a lottery. 
There are in the House, embracing three hundred members, 
about twenty experienced legislators, who will be supposed to 
do nearly all the talking, and, in a manner, "run the whole 
machine" themselves, while the green members sit quietly in 
their seats, listen attentively, vote at the proper times, and in 
what their leaders teach them is the proper manner, but rarely 
have the audacity to get up and speak. It is not to be supposed 
that mere chance would give the twenty " smart " members front 
seats, near the Speaker's desk, where, of course, they earnestly 
desire to be. Some happen to get back seats, but they don't 
keep them long. They go and speak pleasantly to a corre- 
sponding number of green ones who have had the luck to draw 
front seats, and, by representing that their hearing is imperfect, 
that their eyesight is bad, and that they each have fifteen or 
twenty bills to introduce and advocate in long speeches, contrive 
to "swap " with the lucky green ones, who "take back seats," 
where, after all, they can vote just as vigorously as they could 
near the Speaker's stand. So, on the second day, you see all 
the " old stagers " ranged along on the front row of seats, a few 
perhaps as far back as the second row — then all is well. 

The obscure members, as before intimated, do not often 
address the Chair, but sometimes they do. On such occasions 
the Speaker is more than usually confused, and so is the 
reporter. The green member, when he becomes so daring as 
to attempt to offer some remarks, arises from his seat away back 
at the farther side of the Hall of Representatives, a hundred 
and fifty feet distant, and, "unaccustomed as he is to public 
speaking," (I can't help it!) says, "Mr. Speaker," in a faint 
voice, compared with which an ordinary whisper would sound 



3 6 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

like a clap of thunder. Indeed, so puny is the voice that we 
involuntarily get the notion that he is about to utter his dying 
words. The Speaker is confused — in the first place, not so 
much by getting the country member's name intermingled with 
idence, as by the fact that he does n't know him at all — 
does n't remember that he ever saw him in his life, or ever 
heard of him, and certainly has. not the remotest idea as to 
where he lives. Nevertheless, while an awful presentiment of 
evil overshadows his soul, he bravely begins : 

■• The gentleman from — " 

Then he looks appealingly at several well-posted members — 
those old stagers — in the front seats. There is a general 
turning of heads and a concerted staring at the country member, 
who, appalled at suddenly and unexpectedly finding himself 
" the observed of all observers," stands pale as a ghost, waiting 
to be " recognized." None of the members near the Speaker's 
stand happen to know him, and they, together with the whole 
House, only keep on staring at him. 

Things are becoming painful. There is a moment of awful 
silence. Presently there is a slight movement among the other 
countn- members in the vicinity of the distant country member 
who has dared to arise for the purpose of "making a few 
remarks : " a gentle murmur, like the feint sound of the 
breakers on the distant sea-shore ; heads turn to and fro, and 
shake and nod fantastically ; and the name and residence of 
the member, obtained from his own lips, begin to pass from 
mouth to mouth in the direction of the Speaker's desk, slowly, 
painfully, over the heads of numerous members, till at last they 
reach the Chair. The country member is Mr. Brown, of Cobb- 
ville ; but, of course, by the time his name and residence reach 
the Speaker they become " Mr. Cowan, of Bobbington," and 
the Speaker, after the usual agony, succeeds in announcing him 



CERTAIN REPORTERIAL WORK. 2>7 

as "the gentleman from Carrington, Mr. Bobbins." There- 
upon the statesman from Cobbville proceeds with his remarks 
in low, tremulous tones, and here is what the reporter hears : 

u I do no oo ah foo ow noo ore bore air o no to jo ih bo eh 
so high ugh for no go." 

The Speaker also listens attentively, but of course understands 
about as much of what Mr. Brown says as the reporter does. 
The speech is not lengthy, and the reporter does the best he can 
for Mr. Brown, and for his paper, and for the Commonwealth, 
by writing : 

Mr. Bobbins, of Carrington, made some remarks with reference to the 
amendment in question, in the course of which he suggested that careful 
attention should be given to the subject before definite action be taken. 

Now comes some fun. When Mr. Brown, of Cobbville (erro- 
neously announced as "the gentleman from Carrington, Mr. 
Bobbins "), has finished, a waggish member, a very able lawyer, 
arises with a merry twinkle barely visible in his eye, and says : 

"Mr. Speaker:—" 

Much to the reporter's astonishment, the Speaker succeeds, 
in the first attempt, in properly recognizing him as "the gen- 
tleman from Hampden, Mr. Edington." 

The reporter, somewhat reassured, writes : 

"Mr. Edington, of Hampden, said: — " 

[That gentleman proceeds, in the most penetrating tones :] 

" I can — not reconcile my views with those so ably expressed 
by the gentleman from Carrington." [Of course, like the 
Speaker and reporter, he has not heard one word of Mr. 
Brown's remarks.] "I could never question the purity of his 
motives, for I believe -him to be one of the best and most 
patriotic members of this body. Coming from the beautiful * 
town of Carrington," [there is no such town in the State, and 
Mr. Edington knows it,] "a town in whose sweet mountain 
4 



38 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

air I have breathed many a delightful summer breath, he 
brings with him to this hall the very fragrance of sincerity and 
truth. Yet, Mr. Speaker, I cannot — however hard I may try 
— succeed in bringing my mind to the same view he takes of 
this important matter; and I do believe, Mr. Speaker, that, 
after maturer thought on the subject, after a more deep and 
carefuL penetration of its many intricacies, his candor will in- 
duce him to admit that, if the course he at present advocates 
should prevail, it would in the end prove prejudicial to the 
truest interests of the Commonwealth." 

Mr. Brown, of Cobbville, is of course very much delighted 
at the marked attention he has received at the hand of the 
eminent Hampden lawyer, and subsides into a dreamy silence,- 
from which he will probably no more issue during the session. 

The Speaker of a " House" has it in his power to worry the 
reporter very much, and often does so — of course, without in- 
tending to — by the manner in which he rushes through his 
routine work, such as reading notices of bills, reports of com- 
mittees, etc. Some Speakers, with glib tongues, fly over these 
forms with a rapidity that sets the reporter's brain in a whirl, 
and often defies the skill of the most skillful. Notices of bills, 
for example, are sometimes read off so rapidly that the Speaker 
appears to commence each word before he has finished pronounc- 
ing its predecessor ; and here is about what the reporter hears : 

" Meer Smis Sissfeel giz notes zat he ill 'n t'mars um foosh day int'oose 
bill tiled nack t'mend nack mentery secon leven chaper th' nine shen'l 
statutes rel'v vation game." 

Here is what he ought to hear : 

" Mr. Smith, of Smithfield, gives notice that he will, on to-morrow, or 
• some future day, introduce a bill, entitled, An Act to Amend an Act 
Amendatory of Section Eleven, Chapter Thirty-nine, of the General Stat- 
utes, relative to the Preservation of Game." 



CERTAIN REPORTERIAL WORK. 39 

Reporters are only mortal ; and, although they plod along 
patiently through their many tedious hours of exhausting work, 
they are occasionally guilty of shortcomings that evoke stirring 
anathemas, or, at the very least, diabolical scowls from the City 
Editor or the Managing Editor, as the case may be. I once 
knew a generally prompt and faithful reporter, who was sent to 
bring back an account of a very important matter, and who 
became irritated in his pursuit of information and came back 
to the office without a line, when a column and a half of mat- 
ter was expected. He told the City Editor how it was, and 
added : 

" I suppose you '11 give me notice to quit ; but I don't care 
a d — n. I 'm disgusted with the business ! " 

But the City Editor knew that he only had a fit of the blues, 
which would probably disappear by the next morning, not to 
return again for a year, if ever, and could not have been in- 
duced to part with him. 

One summer morning — let us say about twenty years ago — 
I was sent to report an " open-air" celebration at a place about 

twenty miles from the little New England city of S , in 

which I was employed as a reporter on the Journal, one of the 
two daily evening papers published there. The other daily — 
the Press — employed a reporter formerly of New York, a very 

genial fellow, Mr, M . The Managing Editor, Mr. D , 

told me he desired a very full report, and I promised, and 
certainly intended, to give it. 

Arriving at the ground by excursion train, we found, in front 
of the only house in that vicinity, a rude platform to accommo- 
date the orators and others connected with the ceremonies of 
the occasion, and near it an ordinary table, for the use of re- 
porters, with some improvised board benches around it. The 
table stood on the greensward, and, unluckily, right in the 



40 SECRETS 0E THE SANCTUM. 

broiling son of June, while a tree but imperfectly shaded the 
orators' platform. 

Tit iri::er.:ii::7-i:i-: i:.:i:i; ::::ei :r:tr5 i"rt = :".y i:-:: initi 

M and myself, both because the rl^re of the am on white 

or yellow paper is exceedingly trying to the eyes, and because 
it is considered perilous to sit still with the hot rays of that orb 
beating down upon the top of the head. This danger is much 
greater in the case of a person accustomed to being much in- 
doors, and unfamiliar with such hardening work as haying or 
gi:ierir.r in :ie sr.tives ::" rriir.. V.'e :tntri':e:ei. ~:'l z::h 
concern, that there was such a thing as a plain sunstroke ; and 
both of us had, perhaps, written up more than one " fatal case 71 
of that kind. The subject was " nearest the hearts of both," 
or at least in our heads, for I was about to offer a remark rela- 
tive to it, when M said : 

ell, I declare 3 Is this where we are to sit?" And he 
looked anxiously around, hoping against hope that there might 
be, on the other side of the platform, a table for reporters in 
the cool, sequestered shade. But the shade was not so seques- 
tered as it used to be ; for all the space protected from the sun 
by the spreading branches of the "gnarled oak" — that *s the 
kind of tree it was — was occupied by dense masses of country 
pe:_*.e ~':-i "nii i: :iti :: :ie :e".e:r=r::-n. 

I: seems so," I replied, to M *s remark. "Right in the 

sun, too." 

" In the sun, but not right in it," he rejoined. 

We sat down by the table, and I observed that he looked 
very grave, particularly during the prayer with which the cere- 
ri::::±5 ~rrt =::r. i::ir-vi:i itiri "•"';-. tr. :: — i: ::i:iiIt2. 
suit zrief :":rziili:ir5 :: :k i.i:e : :itr. in •■ eniiez: :r=::r "' 
was introduced, and work began in earnest. There were at the 
table several reporters from Boston, of course representing 



CERTAIN REPORTERIAL WORK. 4 1 

dailies of that city; and, having reverently sharpened their 
pencils during the prayer, and got their note-books in trim, 
they went vigorously at their task, taking down everything 

"full." M and I wrote a few seconds in a hesitating 

kind of way ; then I stopped altogether, and whispered : 

"M , I can't stand this." 

" Neither can I," he replied, also ceasing to write. "What 
do you say to quit ? ' ' 

"I agree," I replied, while the orator thundered away like 
the paddle-wheels of a very large steamer going at full speed. 
" I feel that it would really endanger my life to sit here at this 
work for two or three hours." 

"And I, too. I was overcome with the heat once, while 
noting a Fourth-of-July procession in New York, and fainted. 
The doctor said it was a light case of sunstroke, and that I 
must be careful." 

"I was similarly affected one hot day in Philadelphia," I 
returned, growing more and more alarmed. 

" Come, then, let us go," he said. 

"All right." 

We put our note-books and pencils in our pockets, arose and 
elbowed our way out of the crowd. We saw no space in the 
shade where we might even have stood and endeavored to write, 
holding the note-book in the left hand ; so, we gave it up 
altogether and walked away and sat down among the fragrant 
clover under a tree about a hundred yards distant from the 
orators' stand, and began to swallow some refreshments which 
we had not neglected to bring with us, properly packed, 
from S . 

"I wouldn't kill myself in the hot sun for any paper," I 
remarked. 



42 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

"Nor I," he replied. " Besides, now that I come to think 
of it, why should the Journal and Press want it reported at 
all ? It will all be in the Boston papers, and they will reach us 
in good time to-morrow morning. We can then clip it bodily. ' ' 

" Sure enough. We 'd be a couple of fools (here, take a 
little more of this) to sit there sweltering like those Boston fel- 
lows. They're doing the work for us, in a manner. I really 
pity them. ' ' 

"SodoL" 

Sitting in the blessed shade of that giant oak, with the sum- 
mer breeze gently fanning us, and with discreditably frequent 
resorts to those "refreshments," we allowed the beautiful sum- 
mer day to wear away in sweet forgetfulness, while we steadily 
grew more and more indifferent as to whether there was either 
a celebration or a newspaper in the world or not. 

By and by we rambled awhile in adjacent groves, and the 
voices of the orators died away in the distance. Time went 
by unnoticed — and so did the three o'clock train, by which we 

ought to have returned to S ■ with our reports. This we 

discovered when it was only half an hour too late. We could 
now do nothing but wait with helpless patience for the seven 
o'clock train, which we safely boarded, and which landed us 

in S at eight. M and I then parted, and, with some 

unaccountable misgivings, I went to the Journal office. The 
Managing Editor had long since been home to dinner, and 
returned to the office, where he impatiently awaited my 
arrival. 

" Good evening," I said, cheerfully. 

"Ah, good evening," he replied, with less animation than I 
had exhibited. "I — I fully expected you down by the three 
o'clock train." 

"Missed it," said I. 



CERTAIN REPORTERIAL WORK. 43 

He was perceptibly vexed, but he smothered his disappoint- 
ment, and said : 

" Well, I 'm glad you 're here, anyhow. Better late than 
never. Let me have your manuscript, please, as I want to 
arrange it to be set up very early in the morning. Three of 
the compositors are to come round at six o'clock for that pur- 
pose, as to-morrow will be a busy day, and we must get the 
celebration up and out of the way as soon as possible. What 
kind of an affair was it ? Pretty grand ? ' ' And he held out 
his hand for my manuscript. 

"Why, Mr. D ," said I, " the fact is — the fact is, I 

haven't any report." 

"No report?" 

" No. You see, the table for reporters was in the sun, and I 
could n't write there. I never told you — did I ? — about being 
sun-struck in Philadelphia a few years ago ? Besides, I thought 
it would all be in the Boston papers in the morning, and we 
might clip it from them. There were eight or nine Boston 
reporters there." 

Mr. D gazed at me in a strange, weird way, like one in 

a dream, then deliberately put on his hat and left the editorial 
room, muttering a horrible oath as he passed through the door- 
way, leaving me standing there suffering such pangs of remorse 
that I fancied a moderately-easy death would have been quite 
welcome. 

As ill-luck would have it, the Boston papers — Boston was 
sixty or seventy miles distant — were an hour later than usual 
the next morning, and when they did finally come, after things 
had been working backward and crosswise all the morning, I 
was chagrined to discover that they all contained only the most 
condensed account of the celebration. So, we were obliged to 
patch up a miserable and meager account, of four or five stick- 



44 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

fuls, when, being so near the scene of the celebration, we ought 
to have had two-and-a-half columns. I felt mean for a month 
afterward, during which time I found it one of the hard things 

of this life to look Mr. D squarely in the face, although he 

had probably pardoned my delinquency in his heart within 
twenty-four hours after it occurred. He had himself been a 
reporter in earlier life, and there is reason to believe that he was 
personally aware of the manner of such things. He died 
about a year afterward, and when I was called upon to take his 
place as Managing Editor, I could not help shuddering at the 
thought that his suppressed anger at not getting that report 
might have hastened his death. 

I cannot follow the reporter through every phase of his 
duties, but before leaving the subject I will say that long and 
tedious criminal and civil trials in the courts are among the 
leading things that severely tax his brain. I have more than 
once sat in the court-room for four hours at a time, during some 
important trial, carefully recording every word uttered by judge, 
counsel and witnesses — the words often pronounced with great 
rapidity, or in a low and almost inaudible voice, or in poor 
English, and I have thought that there was nothing more irk- 
some or exhausting in journalistic life. 

There are sometimes episodes of an exciting or amusing 
nature that relieve the tedium, and the reporter usually feels a 
little more cheerful after them. Of course, they are of short 
duration. There must "be silence in court," even if the 
sheriff or tipstaff has to scream out the words every ten seconds. 
In cases no less serious than murder trials there is an occasional 
lively tilt between lawyers, or between a cross-examining lawyer 
and a cross-examined witness, in which sharp sallies and keen 
retorts are followed by more than audible laughter — which, 
however, is promptly checked. 



CERTAIN REPORTERIAL WORK. 45 

I once reported a notable murder trial in a large city on the 
Atlantic side of the country, in which an eccentric female wit- 
ness created much merriment by her droll responses to the inter- 
rogatories of a sharp lawyer. Several times the "audience ' ' was 
fairly convulsed with laughter; and even the murderer himself, 
forgetting his little troubles for the moment, was once or twice 
highly amused. 

The woman had heard certain suspicious sounds, on the night 
of the murder, in a building adjacent to her residence, where 
the crime was supposed to have been committed ; and the coun- 
sel for the defense wished to shake her testimony, and make it 
apparent that at the time in question she was in a state of 
health — being a married woman — that might have rendered 
defective her faculty of receiving impressions correctly, and her 
memory of events inaccurate and untrustworthy. 

He put a question to her on this point, and she proved her- 
self to be the very reverse of imbecile, by retorting in a way 
that nearly extinguished the eminent legal gentleman — for he 
was a man of wonderful forensic powers. The usual hearty 
laugh followed, and the two grave judges who sat on the bench 
themselves joined in it most undisguisedly. What followed 
this amused me more than the woman's witty reply. The 
sheriff was present, and had already once or twice reproved the 
spectators for exhibiting mirth in the court-room ; and he now 
calmly waited till "their Honors" had got done laughing and 
subsided into their usual gravity, then arose with a severe 
frown — of course, he was not supposed to know that the 
judges had so much as smiled — turned toward the spectators, 
and with much sternness said : 

"Now, look here! Just — as — sure — as this laughing is 
repeated, but barely once more, or if I even see so much as a 
grin, or hear so much as a whisper among the spectators, I shall 



46 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

clear the court-room ! Mark that ! You ought to be ashamed 
of yourselves ! I would like to see any one here dare to repeat 
such conduct ! ' ' 

He resumed his seat, and there was no more laughing in the 
court-room that day — no, not even by "the Court" itself. 



CHAPTER V. 

SLANG. 



THE use of "slang" words and phrases has become so 
extensive in the public prints, and the fact is so much to 
be deplored, that I cannot refrain from devoting a chapter to 
the subject. I never was more in earnest than I am when I 
urge that slang ought to be kept out of the newspapers. Dis- 
tinctive circles of society may indulge in it without great gen- 
eral harm, but its continual use in the public press, from which 
the masses in a great degree shape their style and morals, ought 
to meet with the most emphatic disapproval. If only a few 
journals, of limited influence and unlimited obscurity, tolerated 
slang in their columns, I should not deem it my province so 
explicitly to deprecate it. But I am sorry to say that slang is 
too often to be found in the columns (notably the "local " 
columns) of some of the most widely-circulated and influential 
newspapers in the country. I could mention one or two leading 
New York dailies (but will not do so, lest the others should be 
jealous) whose reporters are apparently allowed to use slang 
"at discretion," and in whose columns are continually to be 
found such expressions as " went for " (for assaulted), " boozy" 
(for intoxicated), "lip" (for offensive language), etc. This 



SLANG. 47 

is not creditable to any reporter, and, so far from being witty, 
is on a par with the outrageous pun that is produced by severe 
straining. Reporting is a business, should be reduced to a 
business, and the language of a reporter should be generally as 
direct and pointed as the writing and figures in a book-keeper's 
entry in his day-book or ledger. Imagine a book-keeper slightly 
changing the name of a customer, or altering the sum of a 
column of figures, in order to make a joke of it. This world 
is not, as some reporters seem to imagine, one stupendous joke ; 
certainly it has not been such to me. 

Everything can be said against the use of slang, and nothing 
in favor of it. It introduces unnecessary words, and confuses 
our language so that the pupil of the next generation may not 
be able to distinguish the pure English words from the spurious 
stuff called "slang." It gives new and ridiculous meanings 
(if any meanings at all) to old words, true, tried and familiar 
to every tongue. The use of slang takes the place of real wit 
and humor, and seems to threaten to drive them off the field. 
Legitimate fun is discouraged when we arrive at a point where 
only a few coarse slang words will create a horse-laugh, and 
where refined and courteous humor is not even understood. This 
slang business becomes a serious matter, when even our standard 
dictionaries take dozens of its words from coarse and foul 
mouths, and give them as part of our vocabulary — although 
marked, colloquial and low. 

About twenty years ago, I think, the prize-ring began to be 
one of the recognized "institutions" of this country, coming 
from old countries whose vices we seem to display a wonderful 
aptness for imitating. Those were the days of Hyer, Sullivan, 
Morrissey, Heenan, Sayers. If the newspapers gave voluminous 
reports of "battles" for the championship between leading 
pugilists, they only supplied a demand ; for I believe I do not 



48 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

exaggerate, when I say that a majority of the whole people of 
the country began to take a more or less animated interest in 
the prize-ring, and certainly read with avidity the long accounts 
of physical contests between strong men. Of prize-fighting and 
its effects, if any, on the morals of the people, it is not my pur- 
pose nor my province here to speak ; and I even doubt whether 
the morals of those who engage in or witness it are seriously 
affected. I refer to the subject only to say that to prize-fighting, 
so fulsomely reported in the public press, we probably owe more 
for the amount of slang in circulation than to any other specific 
cause. 

The reporters, in looking upon a prize-fight and writing it 
up, naturally caught the "technical" expressions of the 
fraternity, and their accounts as naturally bristled with such 
words and phrases as, " caught him on the mug," " lit out with 
his left," "got him in chancery," "sent him to Coventry," 
"made him kiss his mother," "handed him one on the jaw," 
or on the "meat-trap," the left "peeper," etc. 

These, and whole scores of kindred terms, were made familiar 
as household words, and passed from the mouths of reading 
people back into the mouths of " young and rising " reporters; 
and many of the latter, deeming it a very good and easy way to 
be "witty," or "spicy," lost no opportunity of introducing the 
idiom of the prize-ring into their reports of everything, in 
season and out of season. So did the language of many a 
newspaper, and again of its young readers, become tainted. 

If an encounter between two men occurred on the street, the 
reporter, on the strain to be witty, did not think of so ridiculous 
a thing as telling all about it in language at once simple and 
respectable; but of course described how the aggressor "went 
for " the object of his wrath ; how he " handed him one on the 
bugle ; " how the other, in turn, " put up his props ; " how he 



SLANG. 49 

"squared away" at his assailant and "pasted him on the 
nose," or "whacked him on the snoot," or "put a head on 
him," or " fitted him with a tin ear," or "sent him to grass;" 
and how the aggressor, having been worsted in the fight, — 
although the reporter carefully avoids saying so, — " throwed 
up the sponge " and eventually "walked off on his ear," unless, 
indeed, " taken in " by a " cop." 

Every institution, profession and trade has its peculiar 
nomenclature, to be used only within each respective fraternity ; 
but what confusion it would create to attempt to introduce all, 
in a kind of figurative, allegorical, or semi-literal way, into an 
every-day language ! No such wholesale attempt to Babelize 
our language has yet been made ; but it does seem that the 
whole jargon of the prize-ring, about the rudest of all distinctive 
nomenclature, has been chosen by reporters to enrich (?) our 
diction and polish the tongues of the people. 

But why not go into other spheres where " slang " of a more 
refined nature may be obtained ? The realms of science, for 
example, are rich in expressions that would aid the reporter in 
making his language as obscure and unintelligible to the masses 
as possible, which seems to be the object aimed at by some 
reporters. For example, he gives an account of a man com- 
mitting suicide, one who had been low-spirited for some days 
before his death; why not say that "the mercury in his glass 
had been depressed to the unusually low figure of 27.05 ? " or 
that " the humidity of his soul had advanced to 99.999 ? " Or, 
dropping meteorology and going into astronomy, if the man 
suffered temporary aberration of mind common to his ancestors, 
it might be said that he had recently "moved in an elliptic 
orbit," and (if a love affair was the immediate cause of the 
trouble) that " the eccentricity of the said orbit was due to the 
periodical proximity of a certain planet." This might mean a 

5 n 



50 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

star actress with whom the poor fellow had fallen in love, io 
the extent of deranging his mind, but no one would ever guess 
it, and thus the reporter would succeed in his prime object — 
that of not being understood. All these things will be found 
highly advantageous — that is, if the desired end is to make 
language as unintelligible and as nearly useless as possible. 

The idiom of sailors is sometimes affected by such young 
writers as seem to think that language is most valuable when it 
is most occult. There are reporters who, in a happy vein — 
but it must be spontaneous, and not studied — occasionally 
produce very amusing caricatures by some such means. For 
example, I some years ago sent a reporter — one who seldom 
attempted to " make a joke " — to see what was going on in a 
certain municipal court. He reported one case pretty fully, in 
which a sailor was the defendant ; and as he assured me that 
" Jack" really did use many nautical terms in the course of his 
"statement" of the case, I consented to publish the following 
exaggerated account of the trial, the more readily because it 
carried its meaning with it : 

Assault and Battery. — William Myrtle, a sailor, was before Judge 
L , this afternoon, on a charge of assault and battery. 

Charles Welde, a clerk in the dry-goods house of F. F. Brown & Co., 
testified that while walking along Pine Street yesterday afternoon, the sidewalk 
being somewhat crowded, he accidentally ran against Myrtle; that he tried 
to step aside to allow defendant to pass ; that defendant was unreasonably 
angry, and used very offensive language; and that when he (witness) 
remonstrated with him, the defendant struck him a blow with his fist, 
knocking him down. The face of the prisoner showed some marks of 
violence, especially in the vicinity of the left cheek-bone. 

The judge asked Myrtle if he had counsel — explaining that counsel meant 
a lawyer to defend him — and he responded that he had not. His Honor 
then asked him what he had to say concerning the breach of the peace charged 
against him, when the following remarkable scene ensued, Myrtle beginning : 

"I'll tell you, sir — " 



SLANG. 5 r 

"Call him 'Your Honor,' " whispered an officer, who stood at the elbow 
of the prisoner. 

"Your Honor," the prisoner proceeded, "I'll tell you, sir, how it was, 
sir. I was standin' on my course, runnin' before the wind, and, as I hap- 
pened to be keepin' a look-out off the port bow — " 

"What is that you say," asked his Honor 1 , interrupting the prisoner; ls I 
don't quite understand you." 

" Keep trim, sir; keep trim," responded the prisoner, " or you may shift 
your cargo and lay on your beam-ends. Only don't get a list, and you may 
batten down my main hatches if I don't — " 

" Tut ! Such nonsense ! " interrupted the judge. 

Here an officer stepped up to his Honor, and pointing to the prisoner 
with a significant gesture, said something in a low tone ; whereupon Judge 
L said aloud : 

" O — ah, yes; I see. Well, send for the interpreter." 

An attendant left the court-room, the prisoner remaining standing and 
staring about him as though apprehensive that some one had been sent for 
to come and hang him. But the attendant soon returned, bringing with him 
a mild-looking man who did not look much like an executioner, but who 
was no other than Mr. Edmoine, the sworn interpreter of the Court of Com- 
mon Pleas. When he had taken his position, the judge told the prisoner to 
go on. 

Myrtle brightened up when he perceived that he was not to be imme- 
diately hanged, for he seemed to take in the situation, and proceeded : 

" Well, sir, seein' I've an old shipmate alongside, I'll tell you. As I was 
sayin', not keepin' a look-out dead ahead, but havin' an eye out for a sail on 
the port bow, fear o' bein run down — " 

" What is that? " asked his Honor. 

" Guarding against a collision with some one approaching on his left, your 
Honor," explained the interpreter. 

" Well? " said the judge, to intimate that the prisoner might proceed. 

"You see, sir," resumed the prisoner, "all at once this old craft" — 
pointing to Mr. Welde — " rounded to and struck me amidships, and — " 

"What? He struck you first?" interrupted his Honor, looking inquir- 
ingly at the prisoner, then at the interpreter. 

" He means," explained the interpreter, " ran against him, the prisoner 
receiving the accidental shock somewhere about the pit of the stomach." 



52 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

" Then says I," continued Myrtle, " says I, sir : ' Ship ahoy ! Port your 
helm and run up your mains'l, or I can't clear your bows,' and — " 

" Your Honor," put in the interpreter, perceiving that the judge 
looked puzzled, " he wished to convey the idea to the complainant in 
this case that he had better turn to the left, and so pass on the prisoner's 
right." 

" But that mainsail? " said the judge, inquiringly. 

" Meant," responded Mr. Edmoine, " that the complaining witness should 
exercise more alacrity in passing, just as a small craft will move faster by 
setting an additional sail." 

"Ah, I see," said his Honor. "Well, Myrtle, proceed. What did he 
say ? " 

" Say, sir? Signaled as much as to order me to haul down my colors, 
and—" 

"Gave him to understand," interrupted Mr. Edmoine, "that he must be 
less aggressive in his manner." 

" And what did you say ? " queried Judge L . 

"'Look out, there!' says I, 'or you'll get your fore-t'gallants'l carried 
away — ' M 

"A threat to knock his hat off, your Honor," put in the interpreter. 

" Did he reply to you ? " asked the judge. 

"Yes, your Honor — wanted me to lower my topgallant yards; so — " 

" Keep his hands down," explained Mr. Edmoine. 

" An' says I : ' Take a reef in your upper fore-tops' 1, or I — ' " 

" Meant, to keep his tongue more quiet." 

" Well ? " 

" Then, sir, he rigged his spare spars and began to h'ist 'em — " 

The judge looked bewildered. 

" Evidently," said Mr. Edmoine, " he means that the man rolled up his 
sleeves slightly and raised his hands." 

"So," resumed Myrtle, "says I, 'Look here, old craft, if you don't re- 
spond to signals, just look out for your starboard light — ' " 

" Mind his right eye," said the interpreter. 

" Then I just run up my topgallant yards, set spanker, trysails, staysails, 
jib, flying-jib and jib-boom, and bore down on his starboard bow — " 

" Seems that he rushed at him and struck him a blow about the right 
cheek-bone, I should say," remarked the interpreter. 



SLANG. 5 3 

" And stove a hole below his water-line, so that he filled instantly and 
went down by the stern, while runnin' up his ensign, union down." 

" Knocked the man down, who, it seems, was so alarmed as to call for 
the police," said the interpreter. 

"And," concluded the defendant, "just then a man-o'-war run up along- 
side, head on, threw out his hawser and made fast to my capstan, and towed 
me into dock." 

"A policeman arrested him and took him to the station-house," explained 
the interpreter. 

"Ah, exactly, I see," said his Honor. "Well, William Myrtle, you 
probably thought you had some provocation, although the collision between 
you and the complainant may have been, and probably was, purely acci- 
dental on his part. But it is, in any event, necessary that a rebuke should 
be promptly administered to any one who resorts to violence — any one who, 
except in self-defense, strikes or lays hands on another. In this view I am 
supported by a jurist no less eminent than Mr. Justice Blackstone, as well 
as by distinct statutes of this Commonwealth. In view of the fact, 
however, that the act appears to have been entirely unpremeditated, 
the Court will deal with you as leniently as section two of chapter sixty- 
one of the Revised Statutes will allow. The sentence of the Court is, that 
you be imprisoned in the county jail for a period of ten days." 

"Ay, ay, sir!" responded the sailor, in a hearty voice. 

The judge once more looked inquiringly at the interpreter, who said : 

" He means he '11 go, your Honor." 

Thereupon, a "man-of-war" made fast to the "jolly craft," and towed 
him out into deep water. 

Perhaps I cannot more appropriately conclude this chapter 
on " Slang " than by quoting these verses, written a year or two 
ago for Saturday Night. 

OLD GRANDPA'S SOLILOQUY. 

It wasn't so when I was young — 

We used plain language then; 
We didn't speak of "them galloots," 

When meanin' boys or men. 



54 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

When speaking of the nice hand-write 

Of Joe, or Tom, or Bill, 
We did it plain — we did n't say, 

"He slings a nasty quill." 

An' when we seen a gal we liked, 
Who never failed to please, 

We called her pretty, neat an' good, 
But not " about the cheese." 

Well, when we met a good old friend, 

We had n't lately seen, 
We greeted him, but did n't say, 

" Hello, you old sardine !" 

The boys sometimes got mad an' fit ; 

We spoke of kicks an' blows ; 
But now they " whack him on the snoot," 

Or " paste him on the nose." 

Once, when a youth was turned away 
By her he held most dear, 

He walked upon his feet — but now 
He "walks off on his ear." 

We used to dance, when I was young, 

An' used to call it so ; 
But now they don't — they only " sling 

The light, fantastic toe." 

i 
Of death we spoke in language plain, 

That no one did perplex ; 
But in these days one does n't die — 

He "passes in his checks." 

We praised the man of common sense ; 

" His judgment 's good," we said : 
But now they say, " Well, that old plum 

Has got a level head ! " 



INTERVIEWING. 55 

It 's rather sad the children now 

Are learnin' all sich talk ; 
They 've learnt to " chin " instead of chat, 

An' "waltz" instead of walk. 

To little Harry, yesterday — 

My grandchild, aged two — 
I said, " You love grandpa? " Said he, 

" You bet your boots I do ! " 

The children bowed to strangers once ; 

It is no longer so — ■ 
The little girls, as well as boys, 

Now greet you with " Hello !" 

Oh, give me back the good old days, 

When both the old and young 
Conversed in plain, old-fashioned words, 

And slang was never " slung." 



CHAPTER VI. 

INTER VIE WING. 



INTERVIEWING" is a phase of journalism which, I think, 
does not either necessarily or properly belong to it. It is 
of comparatively recent creation, and has already assumed dis- 
gusting proportions. I trust that, agreeably to the rule govern- 
ing the decline of things of rapid growth, its decay will be 
commensurately rapid, and its end sudden and violent. As an 
adjunct to journalism, interviewing is out of place. It is little 
and undignified, placing both the interviewer and the inter- 
viewed in a very undesirable attitude before the public. Views 



56 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

which a prominent man may express, in season, on some ques- 
tion in which public attention is largely absorbed, may be pub- 
lished with perfect propriety ; but it does seem, to me, little 
short of audacity on the part of a newspaper to send a reporter 
to "bore" any man, get him to "say something," — it may be, 
without mature reflection, — take down his words in short-hand, 
as they fall from his lips, and publish them. 

As a rule, when it is important that a man's views on any 
particular subject should be known, the propriety and good 
taste of sending a reporter to hunt him up, or hunt him down, 
in his office or parlor, and talk them out of him by inches, are 
not apparent- to me. On the contrary, if the said public man 
is in a position in which his proposed policy may affect the 
public welfare, it seems to me that it would be in perfect keep- 
ing with his dignity voluntarily to give a statement of his views 
to the anxious public in " a card" in the newspapers (when no 
more regular channel is presented) ; and, in doing so, he would 
not only appear more dignified than in the attitude of being 
cross-examined by a reporter, but would thus gain the material 
advantage of being able to present his thoughts more clearly, 
by putting -them in writing himself, when alone and unbored, 
and in moments of cool judgment. 

But the fact is, many of the so-called "interviews" with 
public men (if I may be considerately pardoned for exposing 
the secret, or, rather, fraud on readers of newspapers) are 
"arranged." I mean that the interviewed party, in the awful- 
ness of his dignity, dees not wish to appear in the light of 
seeking to "put himself right" before the public; and so 
one of his " friends," for example — sometimes his modest self 
— arranges with the editor or proprietor of a newspaper to send 
a reporter " around " at a certain time and " interview " him; 
and it is a remarkable fact that the reporter always finds the 



INTERVIEWING. $7 



a 



great man " in his private office, " on time." Then the inter- 
view proceeds after the following fashion, as afterward published : 

Reporter. — The Hon. Peter Snuggs, I believe ? 

Hon. Peter Snuggs. — Yes, sir ; I have the honor of being that person. 

Rep. — I represent the daily Pryer. 

Hon. P. S.— Ah ? Be seated. 

Rep. (thanking Hon. P. S., and being seated.) — If I am not intruding, 
Mr. Snuggs — 

Hon. P. S.— Not at all. 

Rep. — Then I would like to ask your opinion on a question of great 
public interest, provided, of course, that you have no objection to having 
your views published. 

Hon. P. S. —What is the subject? 

[Note {not by the reporter). Hon. P. S. knows well enough what the subject is, and has 
all his answers to the expected queries prepared, and committed to memory.] 

Rep. — The subject is one of great delicacy. You are doubtless aware 
that public attention is just at this time directed to the great question of an 
increase of the duty on imported raw materials for ladies' chignons ? 

Hon. P. S. — I cannot be blind to the fact that this question is convulsing 
the popular mind. 

Rep. — You have, no doubt, given the subject much attention ? 

Hon. P. S. — Well — yes ; although I had not thought of giving publicity 
to my views just at this time. Might not such a course be considered a 
little premature ? 

Rep. — Not at all, Mr. Snuggs. The public are breathlessly waiting to 
hear what you have to say on this great question ; and, as some of your 
political adversaries have undertaken to say what your views are, and so 
probably placed you in a false light, it is but justice to yourself and to the 
community that your views should be published, with the stamp of authority. 

Hon. P. S. — If I thought so — (hesitating.) 

Rep. — You can rely on it, I assure you, Mr. Snuggs. 

Hon. P. S. — (After a moment's thought.) — Then the question would 
seem to be as to whether I should regard any increase in the duty on the 
materials referred to as deleterious ? 

Rep. — Exactly. Would it, in your opinion, be bad public policy Co 



58 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

increase the duty on those materials thirty -three and one-third per cent., as 
proposed ? 

Hon. P. S. — (Emphatically.) — I have no doubt of it. 

Rep. — Do you think, then, that the proposed increase of duty on the 
materials for this important — I might say, indispensable — article of female 
attire would place it beyond the reach of many excellent women, and that 
on that account their equanimity of temper would be disturbed, and so their 
usefulness impaired? 

Hon. P. S. — I do. Nothing seems to me so inimical to the public wel- 
fare as any measure calculated to irritate the ladies, especially the married 
ladies, and so to involve the peace of homes. On the tranquillity of house- 
holds and hearth-stones depends the future growth of our population, the 
numerical strength of posterity ; yes, and the morals of the rising generation, 
who, if brought up in the midst of domestic broils — which could not fail to 
be largely augmented by the infamous proposition largely to increase the 
duty on raw materials for the manufacture of chignons — would lose their 
respect for women and their appreciation of the beauties of domestic peace, 
and arrive at manhood familiar with scenes of anger and violence. The 
proposed measure, sir, if adopted, would be little less than an enormity ! 

Rep. — Do you think it will prevail ? 

Hon. P. S. — (Thoughtfully.) — I can scarcely think it will. I know 
there is much political corruption in these days, and that a large moneyed 
influence will be brought to bear in favor of the measure ; but I am not yet 
prepared to believe that the American people can have become so nearly 
lost to all sense of patriotism — can be capable of so ignoring that spirit that 
fired the hearts of 'Seventy-six — as quietly to submit to an increase of 
thirty-three and one-third per cent, in the duty -on raw materials for chi- 
gnons ! No, sir, (excitedly.) — No, Sir-ee ! 

Rep. — Then I understand you to say that you have no doubt of the 
efficacy of a liberal supply of chignons — and everything else that the ladies 
desire — to preserve the peace of families ? 

Hon. P. S. — Emphatically. 

Rep. — And that you still have an amount of faith in the patriotism and 
manly independence of the people that justifies you in offering the confident 
assurance that this iniquitous measure — the proposed large increase in 
the duty on raw materials for chignons — is not likely to prevail? 

Hon. P. S. — Em — phatically. 



INTER VIE WING. 5 9 

Rep. — Thank you. I trust that in this intrusion — 

Hon. P. S. — I beg that you will not think it an intrusion, and I assure 
you that I clo not so regard it. 

Rep. — Then I have not seriously disturbed you in the exercise of your 
arduous public duties ? 

Hon. P. S. — Not at all. (Very earnestly.) Not — at — all. 

Rep. — Thank you. 

Hon. P. S. — Not at all. If, in giving my views to the public at this 
time, through the excellent medium of the Pryer, I have benefited that 
public and given any material assurance of a probability of continued 
domestic peace, I shall only be too happy. 

Rep. — (Rising.) — Thank you. Good-morning. 

Hon. P. S. — Good-morning. 

And so this " interview" is terminated, and so published, and 
so the views of the " great man " — who, by the way, " at the 
urgent solicitation of numerous friends," has consented to run 
for a re - nomination — become known to that breathlessly 
waiting public. 

It would be unjust, however, to assert that all interviews are 
pre-arranged, as in the case of the eminent Snuggs. Reporters 
do sometimes call upon public men, unexpectedly to the latter, 
and entirely without any collusion with "friends." As an 
example of the improvised interview, I cite a case which 
occurred some time before the autumn of 1874. A New York 
reporter called on President Grant, and the following was the 
result : 

Reporter. — Your Excellency, I have come to ask you, if the inquiry be 
deemed pertinent, what your views are on the third-term qi estion. The 
press — 

President Grant. — I have nothing to say on the subject. 

Rep. — Well — I thought, as the subject occupies a large share of public 
attention — 

P. G. — I have nothing to say on the subject. 



60 SECRETS OE THE SANCTUM. 

Rep. — At least, I might be pardoned for asking you if, in case — 

P. G. — I have nothing to say on the subject. 

Rep. — I was merely going to say that in case you had good reasons for 
not wishing to commit — 

P. G. — I have nothing to say on the subject. 

Rep. — Of course, your Excellency, I had no notion of being importunate, 
but thought that — 

P. G. — I have nothing to say on the subject. 

Rep. — I trust, your Excellency, that this will not be deemed an intrusion ? 

P. G. — I have nothing to say on the subject. 

Rep. — At least nothing could have been further — 

P. G. — I have nothing to say on the subject. 

Rep. — (Going.) — Your Excellency, I am, in any event, glad that I have 
had the pleasure of — 

P. G. — I have nothing to say on the subject. 

Rep. — (Pleasantly and politely.) — Good-morning. 

P. G. — I have nothing to say on the subject. 



CHAPTER VII. 

JENKINS. 



IF I have to condemn the practice of "interviewing," as 
unworthy of decent journalism, where shall I find language 
in which to express the detestation and loathing with which I 
look upon "Jenkinsism" ? Of all the questionable work a 
reporter has ever been called upon to do, Jenkins reporting is 
the lowest and meanest. If a reporter is called upon by the 
managers of the paper he is connected with — proprietors who 
mistake the mission of a newspaper — to do such work, and if 
he has no relish for it, he is to be pitied ; if he has a relish for 
it, he is to be despised. A writer with such tastes as would 



JENKINS. 6 1 

make it agreeable to him to expend his " talents " in describing 
the petticoat of a bride or the coat-tails of a bridegroom, or the 
watch-chain and whiskers of some corporation autocrat, no 
more deserves to be rated as a journalist than a painter and 
glazier deserves to be classed with the Rembrandt Peales, the 
Edwin Landseers, the Michael Angelos, and is not one-fortieth 
part so much to be respected ! 

I do not enjoy the privilege of knowing personally any so- 
called journalist of the Jenkins type, but I can readily fancy a 
picture of the Jenkins reporter, as he might appear on so im- 
portant an occasion as the marriage of Miss Lucinda, daughter 
of the Hon. Mr. Buggies, the wealthy contractor (formerly a 
hod-carrier), to Mr. Ichabod Snubbs, son of the opulent and 
princely speculator in railroad stocks (who, by the way, began 
his useful business career as the sole proprietor of a peanut- 
stand). I can imagine Jenkins, as he stands in a thoughtful 
attitude in the full glare of the parlor chandelier. He is a man 
of small stature, and his hair is equitably and exquisitely parted 
in the middle. He has little reddish eyes, peculiarly adapted 
to views of domestic scenery as observable through key-holes ; 
and a small, turned-up nose, whose sharpness is suggestive of 
its adaptability to prying into hidden things that concern 
neither him nor the public. Just beneath that penetrating nose 
a fragile mustache struggles for existence, like a meager tuft of 
weak and fading moss that is starving on the face of a barren 
rock; while his unplethoric cheek (which, however, is ample 
in a figurative sense) is fringed with a straggling whisker. His 
whole aspect is one of strangely-mingled self-importance and 
imbecility. 

He is in his holiday attire, Jenkins is ; and he struts about 
with an air of greatness that even the bride's father, the wealthy 
ex-hod-carrier, would scarcely dare to assume. His polished 
6 



62 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

boots shine and glitter as they shuffle over the Brussels carpet 
of the parlor, and glisten under the gas-light of the halls and 
stairways, as he glides about, like a freshly-incarnated imp, 
peering into bed-chambers and poking his nose into closets. 
I can fancy him, in his tour of inspection, entering the bridal- 
chamber itself, noting the wall-paper, the ceiling, the floor, die 
gas-burners, and, above all, the interesting couch; closely 
scrutinizing the lace-ornamented pillow-cases, the soft blankets, 
the snowy coverlets and sheets ; and even stooping reverently 
and looking under the bed, as though, like many a timid dame 
on the point of retiring, to see if "there 's a man under it." 

Then I see him in the presence of the "happy pair," pencil 
and note-book in hand, turning about the lappel of the bride- 
groom's coat, counting the buttons, then gently lifting the tails 
to examine the silken linings. I see him gaze intently upon 
the snowy linen handkerchief of the bridegroom, as the latter 
gracefully draws it from his pocket at such seasons as its useful- 
ness cannot be ignored, carefully examining the corners and 
noting the handsomely-worked initials. I can fancy his running 
his fingers daintily through the fragile textures of the bride's 
apparel, carefully examining her from head to foot, and making 
notes" to be written up in some such shape as this : 

The bride's dress was simply elegant. The front breadth and first gores 
were cut to fit the figure closely, and had no trimming on them, but at the 
sides seams were cut in battlements, and lapped over on to the back widths. 
These formed a very long train, which latter was finished on the bottom by 
a side-plaited flounce. The chatelaine corsage was cut high, with Marie 
Antoinette sleeves, trimmed with satin plaitings and lace flounces. These 
flouncings were made to match the over-dress, as was also the lace 
garniture of the corsage, and formed a part of it. The dress itself was not 
the ordinary point which is really intended to do service as a shawl, but a 
full-trained skirt, falling to the hem of the satin dress, and gracefully looped 
with orange-blossoms and stephanotis. The same flowers formed a half- 
wreath on the corsage, and completed the ornamentation of the sleeves. 
The vail of filmy tulle that finished this simply elegant costume, fell to the 



JENKIA T S. 63 

dress hem, and was fastened by an aigrette of white blossoms, from which a 
pendent wreath outlined the left side of the vail throughout its entire length. 
Her ornaments were diamonds presented by her brother-in-law, Mr. Street- 
Contractor Overbust, and in her hand she carried an elegant fan of natural 
flowers, tuberoses and stephanotis being the principal ones. The other 
side, upon which they were mounted, was of white satin, covered with 
Duchesse point. The hair was parted on the side, and rolled in a twist, 
a la Grec. 

Then must follow a description of "the presents," so inter- 
esting to the news-reading public, after about the following 
style : 

A diamond cross and ear-rings, from Mr. Peter Munderly. The solitaire 
ear-rings are very handsome, and the stones in the cross clear and of great 
size. 

A flower-stand, in crystal and silver, from Gen. (of militia) Buglehom. 

A silver card-rack, designed like an open oyster, from Mr. and Mrs. 
Stumps. 

Two bronze figures (mantel ornaments), from Major Wagontire. 

A dozen silver butter-dishes and a dozen silver salt-cellars, from Mr. and 
Mrs. Blim. 

A set of silver ice-cream spoons and ladle, from Hon. Snooks Jones. 

A costly pearl, necklace, from Mrs. Shimsham. 

An enameled watch, chain and locket, from Col. Oldbumm. 

A heavy gold chain and locket, from Capt. Fitz-Burns Snobbs. 

A gold necklace, from Mr. j. Hardpan Smith. 

A brooch and ear-rings, Roman mosaic, set in Etruscan gold, from Miss 
Blubberly. 

An inlaid inkstand, from Gen. Snakes. 

Silver inkstand, from Miss Susanicus Windowsash. 

No one will accuse me of exaggeration in the above, when I 
append the following description of the wardrobe of a bride 
who, in 1874, married the son of a wealthy upstart, and which 
description, given by the giant-minded Jenkins, was published, 
I blush to say, in hundreds of newspapers in this country : 

The white wear composed one dozen robes de nuit of fine linen, silk, 
Paris muslin, fine jaconet and Lonsdale cambric, and one dozen of the best 
and smoothest long cloth; one dozen linen and cambric and grass-cloth 
chemises, and one dozen ordinary fine Wamsutta; one dozen linen and lawn 
and muslin embroidery corset covers, and two dozen pairs of underwear of 



64 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

the same materials. There are three dozen white underskirts and four very 
elegant robes de soir. The bridal corset was made of a piece of the white 
satin of the bridal dress. It had one hundred bones in it, and was stitched 
with blue silk ! A white silk corset was covered with a delicate tissue of 
Mechlin lace. A blue satin corset, stitched in white, and a pale lavender 
stitched in blue, were among the orders, and a lace coutil completed the 
list. Sachets of costly and delicate perfumes were stitched into each of the 
corsets, and lent a delicious odor. The three dozen skirts spoken of did 
not include a single trained or full dress jupon. Puffings and embroidery 
alternated with tucks and ruffles. It took a whole week to laundry them, 
and four women working every moment with fluting scissors and embroidery 
irons. The grand robe de nuit was a wonderful garment, made of Paris 
muslin, grass-cloth, and the finest Swiss embroidery, every stitch of the 
work in it being done by hand. The hosiery comprised morning, dinner, 
reception, carriage, promenade, and evening hose. There are silk stockings 
in Bayadere stripes, pearl color and pink, blue and white, gray and blue, 
and other mode tints, costing $12 per pair. Another lot of useful articles 
of apparel were of the Turkish pattern, buttoning just below the knee, and 
with ribbons to match. 

In a country like this, a country of republican institutions, 
a country where born rulers and titled families are unknown, 
must we grovel so low as to worship not only a rich bride, but 
also the toes of her stockings ? For shame ! Let the respect- 
able press of the country decry this hideous flunkeyism. Shades 
of our grandmothers ! I never so thirsted to see the plain old- 
fashioned women of other days in their home-made flannel 
dresses, as when I read the smaller than puerile jargon I have 
just quoted ! O Jenkins, Jenkins, Jenkins ! Get thee to a 
cemetery. 



THE EDITORIAL ROOMS. 6$ 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE EDITORIAL ROOMS. 

THE owner or " proprietor ' ' of a newspaper is not always 
the editor, either in name or in fact. He may be the 
business manager, devoting his whole time to the counting- 
room ; he may be his own foreman of the composing-room ; 
he may be his own Managing Editor's assistant ; he may be the 
very reverse of a-literary man, or editor, with but a vague and 
imperfect notion of the mysteries of the paste-pot and scissors. 
Yet, by virtue of his ownership, he is The Editor, generally ; 
and, more still, he dictates the abstract sentiments and general 
tone of his paper, as he certainly has a right to do. He of 
course employs a Managing Editor, — unless he acts as such him- 
self, — who is the supreme authority in the editorial rooms ; who 
says what shall go into the columns of the paper and what shall 
not ; who says how this shall be done and how that shall not 
be done ; who organizes and reorganizes his department ; who 
engages his assistants, agreeing with them as to their salaries, 
and who also dissevers their connection with the paper when- 
ever, in his judgment, their services are of insufficient value or 
their places may be filled by more efficient men. 

On the other hand, the owner or one of the owners of a 
paper is often The Editor in fact, as well as by courtesy. He 
writes for, "works on," the paper; but, as he cannot give his 
attention to every detail, he, too, employs a Managing Editor, 
thus leaving his own mind more free for the preparation of 
elaborate editorials, which often require much research, involv- 
ing careful examination of voluminous statistics, as well as 
much thought. The Editor himself usually writes the leaders, 
6* E 



66 SECXETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

or some of them, when he can, but has a Managing Editor who 
can readily do it when he himself is absent, ill, or not in the 
mood for writing. Horace Greeley, for example, was The 
Editor of the New York Tribune, as well as one of its propri- 
etors ; so was George D. Prentice, of the Louisville Journal : 
so was Henry J. Raymond, of the New York Times ; so is 
Charles A. Dana, of the New York Sun; Manton Marble, 
of the World; "Sam" Bowles, of the Springfield Repub- 
lican. 

Before treating of the details of editorial work, — which I 
ought to be able to give from my own experience, — I shall 
again quote briefly from Mr. Cummings' s sketches of the inside 
workings of the New York Tribune, published a few years ago 
in Packard' 's Monthly. 

Young (John Russell Young, at that time the Managing Editor of the 
Tribune) is a strict disciplinarian. He runs the editorial department like 
a machine. Every clog strikes its groove with punctual regularity. When 
he is absent, his duties fall on Mr. John R. G. Hassard. If Hassard is 
missing, Mr. Cummings takes the manager's chair; and so perfect does 
everything jibe, that if all the editors were absent, the oldest reporter, like 
the senior sergeant of a company destitute of commissioned officers, would 
take charge. An editorial council is held in the Managing Editor's room 
every day, between the hours of I and 2 P. M. Mr. Young presides. 
When all are seated, Mr. Young nervously dances around his desk for forty 
seconds, and then dumps on the table a basket piled with manuscripts, 
memoranda and newspaper clippings. While these are being assorted a 
running fire of gossip springs up, and jokes fly about the table. The pile 
being assorted, business begins. Mr. Young picks up a newspaper slip, 
looks at it a second, taps it with a scurvy pair of scissors, and says : 

" Now, this Associated Press dispatch is evidently a lie." 

Here the slip is crumpled up, rolled briskly into a little ball between the 
palms of his hands, and then tossed into the waste-basket. A copy of the 
World goes spinning across the table to Cummings, with the remark: 

" I think the World beat you in its account of that murder this morning." 



THE EDITORIAL ROOMS. 6? 

" That 's very probable ; but we beat them on the fire and a murder in 
Weehawken," Cummings replies. 

Young here seizes a pile of manuscript and hands it over to Hassard, 
without a word. On the back of the pile is written : 

" Mr. H., please read, and report. J. R. Y." 

Another glance at a memorandum, and McEwen is told to telegraph 
Smalley, in London, to send a man to Roumania immediately, to watch the 
insurrection there. " And ask * * * *, in Constantinople, if there is any 
truth in the report from Washington that the Turks are about to withdraw 
from Crete. Use the cipher." 

Both orders are directly filled, a bell-cord is jerked, and in one minute a 
Tribune boy is trotting to the telegraph office with despatches for London 
and Constantinople in his pocket. A pile of foreign letters, ranging from 
Chili to Japan, via Europe, is tossed to Schem, accompanied with the words : 

" Oh, Schem, I want an editorial from you to-night on Louis Napoleon's 
suppression of La Lanterne /" 

Each editor is then asked for his report of the previous day's labor, after 
which suggestions from every one present are in order. The meeting is 
then dismissed. The editors pass out the door, through the city apartment 
into the main editorial room, and drift to their desks. In ten minutes a 
half dozen pens are vigorously scratching out ideas for the next day's issue. 
The child is in embryo, and will be born in the morning. Everything will 
move with the regularity of clock-work. The editorial room resembles a 
lurking-place for owls ; the ceiling is low, the floor is dirty ; a dozen rickety 
cane-bottomed arm-chairs, with high backs, three cases filled with books of 
reference, ten old desks, spattered with ink, two cabinets, a chained copy 
of the Tribune Almanac, complete, and a dozen old pictures, give an idea 
of a rushing business, with an occasional dash at the fine arts." 

Having thus quoted from Mr. Cummings's description of the 
editorial rooms of a representative daily paper, I may next de- 
vote a chapter to the routine work of an editor. 



68 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

CHAPTER IX. 

EDITORS' WORK. 

COME with "us" and- see "a day's work" on an afternoon 
or evening paper. We are going right now to our office. 
We don't saunter along like aristocratic people who never 
think of breakfasting before ten or eleven o'clock. We work. 
We must have our breakfast by seven, and if the big church-bell 
near the office strikes eight while our feet are on the third flight 
of stairs, we feel that we are not a moment too early. Our usual 
time is eight, and we have exactly as much work to do as we 
can do between that hour and ten, at which time the "outside " 
goes to press. If we are five minutes late, we feel the extra 
' ' hurry ' ' all day. 

We enter the sanctum, take off our coat and hat and hang 
them in a gloomy closet, whence we take a lighter coat, of 
dilapidated appearance, and put it on. This is done in five 
seconds, after which we drop into cur chair, at a long, flat 
writing-table in the center of the room, on which are numerous 
exchanges, all neatly spread out from their two or three final 
folds and laid in a pile. This has been done by the Boy, who 
also removed the wrappers ; and he now stands at one end of 
the table, waiting for the day's active business to begin. 

Now, sit down, spectator, and watch us; but don't say a 
word to interrupt us. We can't bear a bore. 

" Where 'n the devil's my scissors?" we sing out, with no 
time for correct verbal syntax. 

Before us are some copy-paper ; three inkstands, one with no 
ink in it ; a paste-pot, freshly filled by that Boy ; three red pen- 
holders, only one of which has a pen in it ; a whole pencil and 



EDITORS' WORK. 69 

a piece of one only one inch long ; a clean blotter, one less 
clean, one nearly used up, and one hideously defaced ; a paper- 
cutter ; some paper-weights ; but — no scissors. Who could 
edit a paper ten minutes without scissors ! 

"Here!" 

It is the Boy who speaks, and who,. starting as if from a dream, 
dashes our scissors upon the table before us. He has been ab- 
stractedly clipping his finger-nails with that sacred instrument ! 

We scowl at him, then — go to work. 

Not at writing. An editor is not always writing. True, we 
take from our drawer an editorial headed, " The Rapid Devel- 
opment of Science," and send it up to the composing-room 
by the Boy ; but that was written last night, when we dropped 
in, long after the last edition of our paper went to press. Our 
first work this morning is paste-pot-and-scissors work ; it is to 
compile a column headed : 

ACCIDENT AND CRIME. 

A portion of it has already been prepared, from late ex- 
changes of yesterday, and we must now add the freshest items 
to the department, and so complete it for our outside. We first 
run our scissors through a paragraph relating to an accident of 
which we yesterday prepared a condensed account. We see 
by it that the victim has since died of his injuries. 

" Sonny ! " we sing out, and the Boy starts. 

" Run up to the foreman and ask him to send down a proof 
of the ' Accident and Crime ' I gave him last night." 

The Boy flies away on his errand. When the proof comes 
down we shall simply place a caret ( /\) at the end of the para- 
graph in question, and write on the white margin something 
like this: " The unfortunate man died a few hours after the 
accident." 



70 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

We have an exchange in our hand, which we perceive to be 
the Reading (Pa.) Eagle, and in it we find this paragraph : 

RAILROAD ACCIDENT. 

An Aged Couple Instantly Killed on the East Penn- 
sylvania Railroad. 

This morning, about fifteen minutes past 7 o'clock, a very sad accident 
occurred at " Bernhart's Crossing," near Engel's Hotel, Muhlenberg town- 
ship, on the line of the East Pennsylvania Railroad. Henry Leitheiser and 
Susan, his wife, both aged about sixty years, who resided about a mile this 
side of " Blind Hartman's tavern," were on their way to Reading with a 
load of potatoes, and they reached the railroad just as the mail train No. 2 
came along, the engine of which collided with their vehicle. The engine 
struck the forepart of the wagon, completely demolishing it, and threw the 
aged couple upon the railroad and instantly killed them. Their clothing 
was caught by the car-boxes, which whirled them around and dragged them 
ten or fifteen feet, during which the aged lady had an arm taken off by the 
wheels passing over it, and her husband had his leg run over at the ankle. 
The scalp of Mrs. Leitheiser was also removed during the accident. The 
engineer immediately stopped the train and backed to the scene of the 
accident, when Mr. and Mrs. Leitheiser were both found dead, and the 
horse which had been attached to the vehicle was lying beside the road, 
with life also extinct. Within half an hour after the accident an undertaker 
conveyed the bodies back to the former home of the deceased. It is stated 
that not the slightest blame is attached, on account of the accident, to either 
engineer or conductor, as the usual signal was given upon approaching the 
crossing. A man by the name of Paul, and Henry Leitheiser, a son of the 
deceased, were within a quarter of a mile of the crossing, and they distinctly 
heard the whistle of the engine, but the aged couple were partially deaf, 
and evidently did not hear the signal. 

This is an important "Accident " item, and we have not had 
it by telegraph. But then Reading is, for example, distant 
from us, and here the accident will not possess the same interest 
as in Reading, near which city it occurred. Besides, we glean 
scores of such items from our exchanges from all parts of the 
country, and all must be condensed. Having read the paragraph 
hastily, we do not attempt to clip and paste any part of it, 
because in this case we can say all about it that we have space 



EDITORS' WORK. 7 1 

to say more quickly by writing it. So we clutch our pen 
savagely, dip it in the ink, and, after writing "Accident, etc.," 
on the upper right-hand corner of the first sheet of copy-paper, 
and drawing a curved stroke around it, so as to fence it off from 
the actual "copy," we thus rapidly condense the paragraph: 

Henry Leitheiser and wife, each sixty years old, were instantly killed 
yesterday morning, while crossing the track of the East Pennsylvania 
Railroad, in a market-wagon, in the vicinity of Reading, by being run over 
by a mail-train, and their bodies shockingly mangled. Both were partially 
deaf, and did not hear the engineer's signal. 

We glance hurriedly over the paper, and seeing nothing more 
in it that we want for this department, throw it aside, and take 
up the Washington Star, of yesterday, in which we see an 
interesting paragraph of twenty lines, with a full head and sub- 
head. This is it : 

TOO LIGHT A PUNISHMENT. 
A Man Who Sets a Bull-dog on a Child. 

Yesterday, between 4 and 5 o'clock P. M., quite an excitement was 
caused at the corner of Twelfth and D Streets, by the savage attack of a 
bull-dog upon a little girl. It seems this little girl, with a companion, were 
crossing Twelfth Street, when they were met by Bill Coleman, colored, who 
was leading the dog by means of a stout chain attached to his collar. In 
passing, Coleman set his dog upon the little girls to frighten them, at the 
same time giving out the slack in the chain, when the dog sprang upon this 
girl, and nearly tore her left ear off, and lacerated the back part of her head 
shockingly, at the same time, with its powerful paws, tearing off nearly all 
her clothing. Coleman was arraigned in the Police Court this morning, 
charged with assault and battery on Rachel Coleman, to which he pleaded 
guilty. After the hearing of several witnesses, the judge sentenced him 
to six months in jail. 

This must also be boiled down for the department of "Acci- 
dent and Crime," and we thus do it : 

In Washington City, on Tuesday, a colored man named Coleman, in 
mere sport, set a bull-dog upon a little girl who was passing along the street, 



72 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

and the brute shockingly lacerated her head, tearing her left ear completely 
off. A Washington paper alludes to the case as one of unusual atrocity, 
and thinks Coleman received too light a punishment, as he was sentenced 
yesterday morning to only six months' imprisonment. 

We next take up a Western paper, in which we find a column 
" local," with the following head-lines: 

SAD ACCIDENT! 
Sudden and Violent Death of a Well-known Citizen. 
It begins thus : 

It is with pain that die announcement is made of a sad bereavement that 
has befallen this community and one of its most esteemed families. Hon. 
William Martin — 

W r e run over the whole article, which, by the way, embraces 
a brief sketch of the life of the deceased, and find we can thus 
succinctly dispose of it : 

Hon. William Martin, a prominent citizen of Dayton, Ohio, and an ex- 
member of Congress, fell from the eastern abutment of the railroad bridge 
over the Miami River, a short distance west of that city, on Wednesday, and 
was instantly killed. He was nearly seventy years old. 

Just now the door opens, and the Boy hurries in, saying : 

"Mr. Craig" (the foreman) "says he'd like to have the 
rest of the ' Accidents ' as soon as possible. ' ' 

"In five minutes, tell him." 

The Boy vanishes, and our scissors dive into the local columns 
of the New York Su?i, and come out with a dozen-line nonpareil 
local, with a top head, which we thus dispose of, very coolly 
appropriating a few lines of the Sun's own language, a liberty 
we do not hesitate to take, because it is reciprocal, and that 
journal will get even with us inside of a week : 



EDITORS' WORK. 73 

y ™ Several eomplftJHtG of brutality are lodged ugainut -- .,_ 
. ^yy „ Roundsman Roger O'Haltoran , of t h e Leonar d a Jyetv ^1/oZK 

Ine C/u,n f ne "a Strcet - police. — A- few nights ago, while crazy drunk, , v 

-he-ran along Greenwich Street, clubbing indiscrim- foclic&mail, id- 
inately men, women and children. "On loLm u iu g ' . . 

to th^ police-station with a respectable young man, in tiouvlc, foi 
whom^he had beaten without pn^yoca/ion, he was ' 

suspeno^d -from duty by Captain Petty. Another ^^ leadOU 
accusatioV against him is that he^b^t an elderly 
woman /as\she was quietly entering^her house, tfoat. 
knocking oureeveral of her teeth.- " 



rreti, anything, fa, me tafce 0/ hcace. 

In a few hours this item will appear as a compact paragraph, 
in five lines of brevier type, without a head, and looking as 
fresh and clear as though it had never been so shockingly 
defaced. 

Next, we dispose of four stickfuls, thus : 

Hon. J. Smith, ex-Mayor of Smithfield, R. I., was almost instantly killed 
near that city, on Monday, by being thrown from his carriage. 

Next, we find in a Philadelphia paper a thirty-line paragraph, 
with the side head, "A Physician Shot." We have not room 
for the particulars, but discover that, owing to the proper con- 
struction of the paragraph, we can use several contiguous lines 
of the "reprint," and thus, by clipping them and pasting them 
on, — the work of four seconds, — save an amount of writing 
that would require perhaps half a minute. Then our paragraph 
is formed thus : 



A Physician Shot . — On Tuesday morning, srn •/ / t. /> ■ 
r ,£ /> Dr. Wevill, living at No. 1014 South Third Street, ( Crhi{adcf/ihta, 

in Che Knee was shot A by Christian Hansen, residing at the 

north-west corner of Fourth and Canal Streets / •/ /, , /' „ 

uh.011 the lattci 4 tvi/e cy&aiuieii hie fed seel to ve jealous , Cut ^X>i. 



74 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

srevui, ^i^nc6e tea net*)- <Hnce veen a7iifitUatea ) ana wrio lied- m a 
cuticac ccnaitum, aeciateA it to ve a com of att&mhted viacK^-maitina, 
in vs/ucfi, ne allege* "vein, c?&a?t4en ana nut- wife ivcie concezned. 

We find half-a-dozen additional paragraphs relating to crimes 
or accidents, in various exchanges coming to us from towns and 
cities scattered from the Atlantic to the Pacific, — paragraphs 
of from six to twenty lines each, — and of each we make a para- 
graph of from two to three lines ; and so, in a minute or two 
more we have completed the department of "Accident and 
Crime," by adding in these tiny paragraphs the essence of what 
we find headed, "Attempted Murder;" "Shocking Affair;" 
" Church Robbed ;" " Forgery ;" " Danger from Gas — Eight 
Children Nearly Smothered ;" "Horrible Casualty — a Man's 
Arm Wrenched Off;" "The Boston Bank Robbery;" and, 
"Suicide." 

"Sonny!" 

The Boy snatches up the copy, and flies up-stairs with it to 
the foreman,, who could not well afford to wait sixty seconds 
longer for it. 

We clutch another exchange and our scissors. 

The terrible clatter of the Boy's feet is heard on the stairs, 
as he falls, rather than steps, down from the composing-room. 
Then he bursts into the room. 

" Mr. Craig wants two more stickfuls of ' Frivolities !' " 

That 's the funny column, outside. Thought we left enough 
last night. No matter: in the exchange before us we see a 
column headed, "This and That." We know what this (and 
that) means. We run over nearly the whole column — for 
two reasons : we want to get two stickfuls of the best in it ; and 
we want to avoid clipping anything we have before published 



EDITORS' WORK. 75 

at any time during the last six or eight years. Of course, a bit 
of memory is necessary, but that is one of the requisite qualifi- 
cations of a newspaper man. In one minute six or seven small 
funny paragraphs are hurriedly pasted on a bit of copy-paper, 
marked "Friv." in the right-hand upper corner, and the Boy 
seizes it and again "races" up to the composing-room. 

That Boy ! In our calm moments we could not find it in our 
heart to give him even a cross look. He works for three dol- 
lars a week ; he is here at seven in the morning, to dust things, 
to build a fire in the stove, when necessary, and to open ex- 
changes and see that paste-pots and ink-stands are filled, and 
that things generally are in readiness for the terrible Editor ; 
he flies up and down those stairs one hundred and forty-six 
times a day; he runs out when he " must not be gone a min- 
ute," to buy us a cigar ; and so his every day goes by. If we do 
occasionally hand him a matter of ten cents " for himself," we 
feel mean at the thought that, if we could afford it, it ought to be 
twenty-five. 

We have, down to this time, read and "slashed" six columns 
of "print," and boiled it down into one; and the clicking 
types up-stairs are rushing it into a uniform shape. 

Now, spectator, you have seen how we have "done " the de- 
partment of "Accident and Crime." Next, for the "outside " 
we must get up a department of "State News." It is very 
true that we did some of it last night, but we must do three- 
quarters of a column yet. We rapidly select from our pile of 
exchanges all the papers published within the State in which we 
are at work, and, as in our " Accident-and-Crime " work, take 
their local departments and boil down from six to ten columns 
of "Youthful Burglars," "Immense Potatoes," "Fires," 
"Accidental Shootings," "Deaths from Injuries," "Escapes 
from the County Jails," " Mysterious Disappearances," " Meet- 



y6 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

ings of the Grand Juries," and " Sad Occurrences." We make 
nearly a column of them, all in paragraphs of from three to 
seven lines ; — and the boiling process has occupied fifteen or 
twenty minutes of our time. 

Ah ! We promised to " notice " two new books to-day ; and 
as we want the book-notices to go outside, that we may have 
the more space inside for editorials, telegraphic and other fresh 
news, we snatch up the first one and consult its title-page. It 
is "Topographic Views of the Lower Mississippi." It is pub- 
lished by Messrs. Sew & So, done in attractive form, and is a 
i2mo of over 400 pages. These facts we quickly note on a 
sheet of copy-paper, in a corner of which we have already 
written ' ' Literary ; ' ' then we place a thumb on the edges of 
the leaves and make them "flutter" from beginning to end, 
our eye not catching a single word. Then, more calmly, we 
open it at the middle, and read the words : 

" — most beautiful and fertile, with wide-extended — " 

We close the book, and add to what we have already 
written : 

The work gives a graphic picture of the Lower Mississippi, with its rich 
cotton-fields and tobacco and sugar plantations; its level plains; its beau- 
tiful tributaries and wonderful bayous, where the fat and sluggish alligator 
basks from day to day, half sleeping, half shaded from the almost tropic 
sun. The work is written in charming style, its descriptive pages being 
especially fine, while it contains many interesting statistics compiled from 
accurate surveys, and other trustworthy sources. 

The second book is a new novel, by a distinguished author 
with whose style we are already familiar ; and, having written 
its title, name of its publisher, and mentioned its size and 
mechanical appearance, we dispose of the body of the work as 
we did that of "Topographic Views of the Lower Missis- 
sippi." 



* 



EDITORS' WORK. 77 

The Boy suddenly appears at our elbow, like a very Mephis- 
tophiles. 

"Mr. Craig wants to know if you can send him four stick- 
fuls of ' Miscellaneous,' in two or three little pieces." 

We always have in a drawer a few miscellaneous selections 
that will "keep," that are "good at any time," and we hand 
the Boy two — one headed, " New Use for Petroleum," and the 
other, " Scientific View of the Geysers." Together with these, 
we hand the Boy the copy of our book-notices, completed in 
five minutes. 

It is now half-past nine ; we have examined thirty-three news- 
papers; cut out of them thirteen columns and boiled them 
down to six times their strength and one-sixth of their former 
volume ; and now all the matter for the outside is prepared and 
"in hand," and the foreman can "go to press" with the out- 
side forms at ten o'clock. He would, by the way, die of a 
broken heart if any miserable circumstance should detain him 
as much as three minutes beyond that time. 

But our day's work is scarcely begun. 

In our paper we have a column of " Political Notes," giving 
the opinions of the press, with an occasional remark of our 
own. We must prepare that department next, and to that end 
we hastily select from the heap of exchanges, and lay them in a 
pile by themselves, the New York Herald, World, Tribune, 
Times, Sun, Express, Evening Post, and Journal of Commerce, 
the Boston Post, Transcript, Advertiser, Journal, Herald, 
Traveller, and Times, the Springfield Republican, the Brooklyn 
Eagle, the Portland Argus and Press, the Albany Journal and 
Argus, the Rochester Democrat and. Union, the Missouri Repub- 
lican, the St. Louis De??iocrat, the Louisville Courier-Journal, 
the Detroit Free Press, the Cincinnati Commercial, Gazette 
and Enquirer, the Philadelphia Press, Age and Inquirer, the 
7* 



?8 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Chicago Times and Tribune, the Washington Chronicle and 
Republican, the San Francisco Bulletin, Examiner and Alta 
California, the Sacramento Union and Record, the Virginia City 
(Nev.) Enterprise, the Milwaukee News, the Cleveland Plain- 
dealer, the Indianapolis Herald, the Buffalo Express, the Pitts- 
burg Commercial, Post and Gazette, the Baltimore American 
and »S#», the Concord (N. H.) Patriot, the Worcester (Mass.) 
»S^y, the Providence Journal, the Richmond Inquirer, the New 
Orleans Picayune, the Mobile Register, the Charleston News- 
und- Courier, the Memphis Appeal and Avalanche, the Harris- 
burg Patriot, Harper's Weekly, the Graphic, the (9/fo'tf .State 
Journal, the Uniontown (Pa.) Genius, the Wheeling Intelli- 
gencer, the Toledo Blade, the Sandusky Register, and one or 
two other newspapers of marked ability that give much of their 
attention to political matters. 

The New York Herald has a leader on " The Destiny of 
Cesarism." We run over it like lightning, dash our scissors 
into the middle of it, and cut out ten lines that within them- 
selves contain a pointed opinion or sentiment. We paste it at the 
top of a sheet of copy-paper, fencing off the word " Political " 
in a corner, to guide the foreman ; make a dash at the end of 
the extract and write immediately after it, New York Herald, 
drawing a line under the name of the paper so that it may be 
set up in italic. 

Next, we seize the Springfield Republican, " Sam" Bowles's 
paper, and clip a four-line editorial remark. It also has half a 
column of political notes, original and selected, and from them 
we select three stickfuls in five paragraphs, giving proper credit 
in each case, as we did in the case of the New York Herald. 

We dive into the heart of a column-article of the New York 
Tribune, on " Free Trade," and snatch out eight lines; dart 
into a leader in the World, on " The Condition of the Cotton 



EDITORS' WORK. 79 

States," and pluck out a summary of about half a stickful ; 
from the Missouri Republican's leader on "The Rise and 
Growth of Parties " we take a thoughtful paragraph of a dozen 
lines; and fifty burning words from the New York Sun's 
"Queer State of Things at the National Capital;" and thus 
we go through them all like an arrow flying from the bow- 
string. 

In the midst of this, while we are fairly bending over our 
table beneath the weight of our heavy work, a coatless com- 
positor, with shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a stick half 
full of type in his left hand, and a sheet of our manuscript, all 
blackened and smeared, in his right, touches our shoulder, and 
says : 

" Mr. , I could n't make that word out, for the life of 

me." [He points to one of our words, which at first almost 
puzzles even us.] "It isn't ' constitution,' it isn't ' consola- 
tion,' it can't be ' consideration,' it " 

" ' Constellation,' " we interrupt, as the light suddenly breaks 
upon us ; and the printer rushes up-stairs, while we bow to our 
work again. 

This is not all of the departments. We must have a third 
of a column of "Personals." We select and condense them, 
as we did the items for the other departments, — " only more 
so," — getting a two- line item from a column report of a speech 
by Hon. Zebulon Smith, and a three-line item from a half 
column account of the marriage of Gen. Baldhead, etc. ; and 
in the midst of this work we are interrupted by the Boy, who 
hands us a revise of an editorial on "The Darien Ship-Canal 
Project," which "went over" from yesterday. 

"Mr. Kenyon," he says, meaning the proof-reader, "says 
there 's something wrong there," — pointing to a note of inter- 
rogation in the margin, — " thinks there 's an ' out.' " 



80 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

We study it attentively for two seconds, and wonder what 
we could have meant when we wrote such meaningless stuff. 

" Bring down the copy, — or, wait. Never mind. I see it 
now." 

We discover that two words, as important to the article as 
the character of " Hamlet " is to the play of " Hamlet," have 
been omitted, — probably in the manuscript itself, — and we 
write them in the margin, indicate where they belong, by means 
of the simple and useful caret, glance over the proof, and send 
it up. 

What comes next ? " Amusements." Last night we visited 
two of the principal theaters, and saw two " stars " at important 
stages of the plays. There are several other theaters in the 
city, but with nothing special " on the boards " just now. So, 
for them we merely rely on the morning papers, to see that 
nothing unusual happened, and that there was no change of 
programme, and under the head of "Amusements " we write a 

third of a column of notices. We write that at the A Theater, 

where one of the stars is playing nightly, the house was packed ; 

that Miss X was greeted with the usual warm bursts of 

applause ; that she did a fine piece of acting in the crying 
scene of the second act, but that we think she scarcely did 
herself justice in the moonlight scene of the third act, although 
she played her part well ; and that she was handsomely sup- 
ported by the regular company. In a similar manner, we dis- 
pose of the B Theater, where the celebrated Mr. Y is 

playing "Macbeth." Then, consulting the morning papers, 

we write that the C , D , F , and G Theaters, 

mentioning each one in a separate paragraph, are nightly 
crowded, the audiences never tiring of "Humpty-Dumpty," 
"Our American Cousin," "Colleen Bawn," and "The Black 
Crook," played respectively at these theaters. 



EDITORS' WORK. 8 1 

Then we make up a little department of "Fires," with a 
small-cap side-head. 

That is not all. We have a department of "Various 
Matters," culled from the morning papers — items of general 
interest, referring to divers subjects, local and foreign, some of 
which came by telegraph last night. As telegraphic news, they 
are of no use to us ; so we boil them down, making the following 
paragraph of a long dispatch describing an extensive fire and 
the loss of two lives : 

The M Hotel, in High Street, Columbus, Ohio, was entirely burned 

last night, and two chamber-maids, who could not escape from their room 
on the upper floor, perished in the flames. 

Other items follow in rapid succession. An extensive burg- 
lary, an atrocious murder, or singular case of mysterious dis- 
appearance, occupying a quarter of a column in the morning 
papers, is condensed to from eight to a dozen lines ; and it re- 
quires rapid thought to do it. 

It is nearly eleven o'clock. In a New York paper lying before 
us our eye touches this full head: " Is Pool-Selling Gambling? " 
We catch up the paper and our scissors and clip the whole 
article. We find it to be an official letter of the Mayor of New 
York, addressed to the District Attorney of that city (or county, 
more properly), respecting the practice of selling election-pools, 
and the District Attorney's reply thereto. The two communi- 
cations would make a third of a column in our paper. We 
cannot think of devoting half that space to it, and we thus 
dispose of it, writing a few lines and pasting on a dozen : 

nad adc/vejoect a note to Qz)i<Lfoict Qfttozneu <cr net/id, catuna nut atten* 
turn to tne /izactice 0/ &&tuna e/ectum^fiooid- in tnat city, and ad-nma 



82 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

advice ad- to wnal dtatwtea aaacn^t aamvuna aie afihuca-vie to trie 

code. iSVbz. €rft,elfci. a le/Uy- la to t&e effect tdat " w^&tde* \ 

>» Whether or not what is _ called pool-selling 
would come within the provisions of the law pro- 
hibiting gambling has never been determined by 
the courts of this State. - The practice of selling 
poolo haG, I b ol i c v e , grown up since fe he passage of 
t he act of 1831 - It would seem that the law is broad 
enough in its terms to cover the selling of pools, if 
, it could be shown that more than $25 was won or 

lost at any one time within twenty-four hours .-With ,/ X 



71J-4- 



J 



^ tdat " it pains to stat e them. - I t is to be regretted that there 
is not more full and complete legislation on the 
subject. - I am, s ir, with great r e cpact, very truly, " 

The door flies open and a boy, breathless from the rapid 
climbing of stairs, bursts in, with the air of one hastening to 
summon a physician to the bedside of a dying father. It is the 
Telegraph Boy, and he hurls upon our table three or four sheets 
of thin white paper — paper so thin that it takes several sheets 
of it put together to make a fair shadow. This is "manifold" 
paper, and upon it, hastily scrawled by the telegraph operator, 
are several dispatches. 

Don't ask us what "manifold" is, but we'll tell you in a 
second. This is an Associated Press dispatch. Half-a-dozen 
papers in this city, whose proprietors equally share the expenses, 
must each have a copy of it, and simultaneously. But to write 
out that number of copies too much time would be absorbed 
and too many clerks would have to be employed. So, the 
telegraph man who "takes" the dispatch writes six copies at 
once, and in exactly the same length of time it would require 
him to write one copy. This sounds like setting the simple 
"rule of three" at defiance, but it is plausible enough when 
you once understand it. The telegraph man performs this 
wonderful feat in a "book" of manifold paper, and when he 



EDITORS' WORK. 83 

wants to make six copies he takes six sheets of black paper, as 
thick as blotting-paper, and fits them into the "book," alter- 
nating them with the first six leaves of the manifold paper. 
This black paper is so prepared with a coloring matter that the 
pressure of an ivory pencil, or anything with a smooth point, 
running over the upper sheet, transfers the lines of the black 
coloring matter from the thick sheets to the manifold, and the 
six sheets of the latter receive alike, and simultaneously, every 
letter, and dash, and dot formed by the ivory point. The six 
sheets of manifold are then torn out and distributed to the six 
newspapers entitled to the dispatch, by means of that lively boy. 

It seems that the process described requires this thin paper, 
on which the letters are about as distinct on one side as on the 
other. It is therefore very trying to the eyes, especially at 
night, when — But we are not doing night-work just now. 

We take up the first silken sheet in nervous hurry, for it is 
five minutes late, when the door opens and a cheery voice sings 
out : 

"Hello! How goes it?" 

Good heavens ! It is that lounger and bore, Wilkins Mug- 
gins. To think that he should happen in at such a time ! 
What crime have we committed to deserve this ? Yet, we have 
a sufficient reason for not wishing actually to snub him ; and 
we know, too, that he does not come in purposely to vex us. 
He does not understand the case — has no appreciation of the 
importance of every minute just at this time. 

" How are you to-day? Sit down — look over the papers — 
little busy just now — be through by and by," we say, rapidly, 
bending to our work again. 

The Boy rushes in. He has been up to the composing- 
room. 

" Mr. Craig wants to know if any telegraph has come yet." 



84 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

"Tell him, yes. Will send up three or four stickfuls in one 
minute. ' ' 

"Anything new?" asks Wilkins, as he leisurely drops into 
a seat and takes up a New York paper. 

" No — nothing particular — that is, you'll find in the Herald 
there the particulars of that big fire. It was a serious calamity." 
And while he — thank heaven ! — becomes absorbed in the 
Herald's account of a very common and every- day occurrence, 
we rush upon our task like lightning. 

We begin to decipher the first dispatch, for we must under- 
stand it all, punctuate it, and give it the proper display heads 
before sending it up. It begins : 

New York, Nov. Ii. — A dispatch from Scranton, Pa., says that a terri- 
ble accident occurred there this morning. A party of six men were de- 
scending a shaft in the B Coal Mines, when — 

The dispatch goes on to state at length that the cable broke, 
and that the car fell three hundred feet, killing all the men 
instantly; and to describe the recovery of the bodies, their 
mutilation, the excitement, the grief of the wives and children 
of the unfortunate men, etc. Having run over it, punctuated 
it and "got the sense," our next duty is to prepare a head or 
heads for it, a work that ought to occupy about eight seconds. 
We are about to dash into it, when Mr. Wilkins Muggins arises 
and takes his departure, remarking as he goes out : 

" I see you 're rather busy. I '11 drop in again in a day or 
two." 

" Do," we reply, cordially ; and plunging a pen savagely into 
the inkstand, we write on a scrap of copy-paper the following 
head-lines : 



EDITORS' WORK. 85 

PENNSYLVANIA. 



TERRIBLE MINING ACCIDENT ! 



SIX MEN PRECIPITATED INTO A SHAFT, AND INSTANTLY KILLED ! 



This we paste at the head of the dispatch and send it up by 
the waiting Boy. It occupied two-and-a-half sheets of the 
manifold, and at the middle of the third sheet, where it ended, 
we of course severed it with our scissors, marking the three 
separate pieces of copy "A 1," "A 2," and "A3." 

Then follows : 

London, Nov. ii. — There is great excitement here over the news to the 
effect that — 

This dispatch proceeds to mention and explain a certain 
diplomatic complication, and concludes by quoting an opinion 
of the Times on the subject, in which quotation occur the fol- 
lowing very bewildering words : 

But that this well be the time nation entire into the most rebellious reli- 
gion hypothenuse.* 

Such bosh ! Here is a problem, compared with which the 
Gordian knot was a straight bit of string. But we must unravel 
it before we send it up; if we don't, the chances are that the 
compositors won't. We've tested that matter before. Let's 
see — "rebellious, religion, hypothenuse — ." Only half-a- 
minute or so to study on it. Confound the dispatch; we '11 cut 
out that part of it ! No — we 've got it. We remember "The 

* An actual "case," with which the writer once had to wrestle while telegraph editor of 
a daily paper. 

8 



SO SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Thunderer's" stately language, and — evidently this is what 
the Times said : 

But that this will be the termination, enters into the most nebulous region 
of hypothesis. 

That is, hazy, doubtful, speculative. 

Delighted at our solution of the problem, we write the proper 
words distinctly with a pencil, head the dispatch, and send it up. 

'T was n't so much of a puzzle, after all, now that we see 
through it — very clear, in fact, compared with some cases 
we've had, and which, by the way, we've had to "give up." 
In such cases, a wicked stroke of the pen or pencil, accom- 
panied by a muttered oath, adjusts the matter. 

We seize the next dispatch. 

The door opens, and a man, with a hesitation in his manner 
that would make a very fair companion to an impediment in the 
speech, comes in, looks around slowly and allows the door to 
swing to. We see at a glance that he hails from the beautiful 
place where the yellow corn, the pumpkins and melons grow — 
we instinctively feel that he is nearer to Nature than we are, 
that he is better and happier than we — we almost reverence 
him, and, although very busy — very busy, indeed — we cannot 
find it in our heart to deal other than tenderly with him. We 
drop our pen to give ourself a partial holiday of fifteen seconds, 
anfl anticipate him by saying kindlv : 

" How do you do, sir? Were you looking for — for — " 

We allow him to interrupt us, which he does in this manner: 

" Is this the office of the Times ?" 

" This is one of the departments. What did you -wish ? " 

"Well, you see, my subscription to the weekly ended last 
March, and I then began taking your daily instead. By some 
mistake — ' ' 



EDITORS' WORK. Z"J 

" Continued sending the weekly? " 

"Yes, and daily, too." 

"Ah? Well, sir, please step down to the counting-room, 
and the clerks will arrange that for you. Just explain it to 
them. It is — " 

"The counting-room?" 

"Yes; you passed it, and came higher than you need have 
done. I 'm sorry. [So are we.] The counting-room is on the 
first floor, right at your left as you go down the last flight of 
stairs." 

" O — O — thank you. Good-day. ' ' 

"Good-day." 

Slowly he withdraws, and, as we resume our work, we hear his 
careful feet planted one after another, with awful deliberation, 
upon the stairs he descends. 

Here is a dispatch from Cincinnati — a rather lengthy 
account of a street-encounter — to which we give the separate 
heads: "Cincinnati — Almost a Riot;" but as, according to 
the dispatch, no one was killed and no one seriously hurt, we 
do not deem it quite worth the space it would occupy in its 
present shape, and so "cut it down" to about one-half its 
length, and that without stripping it of a single essential 
feature. 

The agents of the Associated Press usually exercise very good 
judgment in such matters, but occasionally they overstep Jhe 
mark a trifle. Then the telegraph editor of each newspaper 
cuts down the dispatch at his own discretion. 

We send up the last of this installment of " telegraph," and 
the Boy comes down and says that " Mr. Craig would like to 
know if there is likely to be any more telegraph for the one- 
o'clock edition. Says he has plenty o' copy." 

"Tell him, no — noth'n' more." 



88 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

We have a column of telegraph for the first edition, also a 
column of "locals," with which we are having nothing to do 
to-day, and it is twelve o'clock. Now we go to lunch, and we 
may remain away an hour if we wish, but don't often do it. If, 
however, we approach the office after an hour's absence, we see 
the one-o'clock edition on the street, fluttering and scattering, 
like the brown November leaves, among the readers of news 
and the patrons of loud-tongued news-boys; and when we 
ascend the stairs we feel them trembling beneath us, shaken by 
the throbbings of the cylinder-press in the basement, that is 
rattling off the edition as if the whole world's welfare depended 
upon its expedition. 

At our work again by one. Pens, scissors, paste, manifold, 
a few locals, a few clippings lying around; and the three- 
o'clock edition is a repetition of the one o'clock. Its outside 
is just the same ; and inside it has the same editorials, the same 
locals, with something added, and the same dispatches. In 
addition to the latter, however, there is a whole fresh column of 
dispatches, and at its head, in large characters, are the words : 
"Extra! 3 o'clock!" 

This edition "up," and we are on the home-stretch. Dis- 
patches pour in between three and four o'clock, and by the 
latter time the last one arrives. It is on time, but should not 
be much later, for now but one hour remains, and in that time 
a long dispatch or two must be read, headed, set up, the proof 
read, corrections made, and the forms locked up and conveyed 
to the press. We have the last dispatch. It is a lengthy one, 
on an exciting topic. There has been a terrible disaster — an 
ocean steamer lost — four hundred people drowned ! The door 
opens, and a man comes in, saying with a glib tongue : 

" This advertisement of ours — Brown & Co. — you see that, 
this slight mistake " — producing a slip — " makes it — " 



EDITORS' WORK. 89 

"Just call at the counting-room, please, and see one of the 
clerks," we interrupt. 

" I did, and the clerk said he'd have it fixed all right ; but 
it's very important, and to guard against its possibly being 
neglected, I thought I'd just step in here — " 

" O, exactly," we say; "but this is the editorial department, 
and here we have nothing to do with the * ads. ' We never 
even see them. But if you feel anxious about the matter, you 
might just step up to the composing-room and ask for Mr. 
Rogers, the man who has charge of the ' ads. ' Tell him about 
it, and he will see that the correction is not overlooked ; 
although he has probably made it already, as the clerk has no 
doubt sent up instructions through the speaking-tube." 

A minute wasted by the interruption, and we can poorly 
afford to lose it. We dive into our manifold, punctuate and 
correct it, then write half a dozen head-lines, such as, "Lon- 
don," — " Appalling Calamity ! " — " Sinking of a Steamer ! " 
— " Four Hundred Lives Lost ! " — " Panic Among the Pas- 
sengers ! " — " Frightful Scenes ! " In a corner of the sheet 
we write the word, "Display," to indicate that the heads are 
to be set up in large type, and spread out ; and on a corner of 
the manifold we write, "double-lead," which means to place 
two leads between each two lines, so as to string out the whole 
dispatch, and give it additional prominence.* Then the Boy 
takes it and flies up to the composing-room. 

* I would explain that important dispatches are not treated in this man- 
ner in every newspaper office, some Managing Editors thinking that the 
style borders on the sensational. But the work is so done in most daily 
offices, many of them very solid institutions, as witness the Philadelphia 
Inquirer, New York Herald, or Boston yournal. 

Just here, let me also explain to the uninitiated what " leads" are. They 

are thin pieces of metal, with a length equal to the width of the column in 

which they are used, and a breadth not quite equal to the length of the 

types. One of them is placed between each two lines of type, when it is 

8* 



90 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Now we have reached our leisure, you say ? Yes, the day's 
work is done, so to speak; the last bit of copy for the last 
edition has been sent up, the types are clicking as the com- 
positors work in concert to throw the last column together; 
before the lapse of another hour it will be read in proof, cor- 
rected, and five minutes before five o'clock the forms will be 
laid upon the press in the basement, and at five we will feel its 
throbbing, even up here in the fourth story. 

Leisure ? Yes, we don't leave till the paper goes to press, 
and so we have an hour's leisure before us, and we proceed to 
enjoy it by writing an editorial or two for to-morrow, because 
some of those dispatches contain matter demanding editorial 
comment. This will not consume all the "leisure" hour, but 
the rest of it will be absorbed by such little pastimes as select- 
ing from exchanges, that have just come, little items for our 
funny column, our "State News," our "Personals," our 
" Political Notes," and other departments, for to-morrow ; and, 
yes, here are two or three papers from which we always get 
good miscellaneous matter. We must make a {qw selections 
for "outside" from them. Here's one headed, "Danger 
from Wet Coal ; " it begins : 

People who prefer wetting the winter's store of coal to lay the dust on 
putting it in their cellars, do not, perhaps, generally know that they are 
laying up for themselves — 

Yes, that will do, and we know we have never published it 
before. We lay it aside to be carefully read before leaving, or 

desired that the matter shall be " leaded " — that is, that the lines shall 
appear further apart than usual. "When no leads are inserted at all, the 
printed matter is called "solid." If two leads are placed between each 
two lines of type, the lines are thus thrust still further apart, and the matter 
is " double-leaded." The general text of this volume is "leaded;" this 
foot-note is solid. 



EDITORS' WORK. 9 1 

perhaps to-night, if we come back to the office after dinner. 
Here is another, headed, " Dutch Beauties." We read : 

A writer in the Jewish Messenger, speaking of Leeuwarden, a town in 
Holland, says : " The women of Leeuwarden deserve a paragraph to them- 
selves. There is a primitive air about them which — n 

Another " available," and it is laid aside with " Danger from 
Wet Coal." Here are several others: "The Grave of St. 
Patrick," which we find to be an interesting extract from a 
tourist's letter; "Is Saving Wealth ? " "Silk as an Article of 
Dress," "The Matrimonial Market," "Strange Freak of an 
Insane Man." These all prove to be good miscellaneous selec- 
tions, for we find "leisure" to read them, striking out a line 
or two now and then, before the paper goes to press, and past- 
ing each on a slip of paper, on which we write a word or two 
to guide the foreman or compositor, we hand them to the Boy 
with — 

" There 's some copy for to-morrow." 

And yet you ask us if we are tired ! 

Frankly, though, what you have seen us do to-day, was not 
the work of one man. All this writing, and scissoring, and 
pasting have been done by half a dozen editors, each having 
his own special duties to do — and then they have been kept 
busy.* One man has been known to edit a small daily, entirely 
unassisted ; but the smallest daily in existence ought to have at 
least two or three editors, or it will be as poor and meager- in 
its matter as it is small in size. 

* It may be as well to remark here that the round of duties on a large 
morning paper, such as the New York Herald, World, or Tribune, could 
not well be measured by the standard outlined in this chapter. Such papers 
are made up with far more original matter and far less of matter obtained 
by the mechanical aid of the scissors. 



92 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

CHAPTER X. 

B O OK- RE VIE WING. 

IN the preceding chapter I have casually alluded to — not 
Book-Reviewing, but merely hook-noticing, as it is fre- 
quently done by editors who are surrounded with other and 
more pressing duties, and who can scarcely spare more time 
than enough to look at the title-page of a book. Indeed, Book- 
Reviewing is done, as it should be done, by but very few papers 
in this country. Most of them merely "notice" newly- 
published books, and that, alas ! too often favorably only in 
proportion to the advertising patronage the paper receives from 
the book-publisher. Hence it is too often — though not 
always — the case that when you read in a newspaper, "This 
work is the finest, most useful and interesting that has yet been 
produced on this subject," the editor has not read the book — 
possibly, not even seen it. 

On the other hand, I have known instances of abusing a 
book to make it sell — publishers generally agreeing that " cold 
praise will ruin any book," whereas, a book handsomely abused 
is nearly certain to sell well. Heap a liberal amount of invec- 
tive upon a book; let all the papers in the country condemn 
it in terms of bitterness, or ridicule it with all the power of 
satire, and people will rush to buy it, just to see what kind of a 
monstrous thing it is, anyhow. 

The following example came to my personal knowledge in a 
Western city some years ago : A certain firm of publishers and 
booksellers were " stuck." They had one thousand copies of a 
certain book on hand, and they were going off at the rate of 
about one a year. The senior member of the firm mentioned 



B OK- RE VIE WING. 93 

the matter to a newspaper friend as very vexing, the more so 
because he thought the work one of unusual merit. 

"Why," said the editor, "I can give it a notice in our 
paper that will sell every copy in a week, and create such a 
demand that you will have to put the plates to press again. ' ' 

"Impossible! We have advertised it liberally, and it will 
not take." 

"Let me try it." 

"Very well. I'll send you a copy inside of ten minutes. 
I shall thank you just as much for your kind efforts if they are 
unavailing — which I think they will be. ' ' 

" Send it up, and we '11 see." 

A copy of the unlucky book was laid on the editor's table 
that afternoon, and the next issue of the paper contained a 
notice giving the title, names of the publishers and size of the 
book, then proceeding to condemn it in satirical terms, declar- 
ing the writer to be little short of an imbecile, and concluding 
by saying that Messrs. Brown & Green, the publishers, had 
done themselves great discredit by printing such a trashy work, 
and that they deserved to be taught a lesson in the shape of a 
lively indisposition on the part of the public to purchase the 
book. 

"What have you done?" exclaimed Mr. Brown, when he 
met the editor a few hours after the issue of the paper. " That 's 
outrageous, really." 

" Merely gave the book a little blowing-up to make it sell," 
replied the editor, without losing any of his complacence. 

" Why, who will buy it after such a notice as that ? " 

" Nearly everybody that reads the notice and can raise the 
dollar-seventy-five," replied the confident editor. 
, "I don't believe it will sell a copy." 

"Wait and see." 



94 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

He had not long to wait. There began to be an unaccount- 
able demand for that book, and in two days the thousand 
copies had all been sold and the stereotype plates were on the 
press again. 

"I believe you were right," said Mr. Brown, the next time 
he met the editor. 

" I rather think I was," said the journalist. 

Such cases as this, however, are not of frequent occurrence. 
There are papers in the country, of the class of the New York 
Herald, World and Tribune, the Philadelphia Press, the San 
Francisco Bulletin, the Boston Advertiser, or Springfield Re- 
j)ublica,7i, that employ regular literary editors to review books, 
and who "do it right," without fear or favor. These reviewers 
are supposed to read every important book that is published, 
and very soon after its publication, and to write impartial 
criticisms ; but they do not read from beginning to end very 
many wmmportant ones. 

The story is told that a literary man and book-critic one day 
entered the sanctum of a magazine editor and found him read- 
ing a book preparatory to reviewing it, when the following 
conversation took place : 

" What are you doing? " 

" Reading 's ' History of England.' " 

" What are you reading it for ? " 

" Why, in order to review it." 

" What ! " — in astonishment — " do you actuallv read books 
before writing reviews of them ? ' ' 

"Yes," — rather surprised at the question, — "certainly, I 
do." 

" Why, I never do. It 's apt to prejudice one so ! " 

There is another thing that sometimes "prejudices one" 
whose province it becomes to notice or review a book ; namely, 



B O OK- RE VIE WING. 9 5 

a personal dislike of the author. That literary man must be 
more than mortal — but I never saw one that was — who can 
see unusual beauties in a book written by a man he hates, and 
who, seeing such beauties, can write a notice of that book for 
publication warmly praising the book and extolling the genius 
of its author J But while I have known a few instances of un- 
favorable criticism of books on account of personal ill-feeling 
toward their authors, such instances are only exceptions. Prob- 
ably in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases of a thousand the 
author and critic have never met, and know nothing whatever, 
personally, of one another. Therefore, as a rule, men who are 
regularly employed by respectable journals actually to "review" 
books do so with fairness and impartiality. Indeed, I have 
known of book-reviewers speaking very unfavorably of the 
literary work of a personal friend, when the task of reviewing 
such work could not well be left out of their daily duties. I 
believe I was once in a position where I was compelled to do a 
thing like this myself, or write a lie, and I could not help 
choosing the former course. I know it gave me more pain than 
it did the author, who, however, ignoring the fact of the pain 
on my part, was never able to get himself up to such a standard 
of magnanimity as entirely to forgive me. I have fully con- 
cluded, long since, that there are times, in this world, when to 
be truthful does not pay, but I don't think it will ever cease 
to be right. 



g6 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

CHAPTER XL 

EDITORS' PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS. 

THERE are all grades of newspapers, as hinted in another 
chapter, and so there are all grades and all kinds of 
editors. As a rule, journalists do not lack a proper sense of the 
courtesies that are due from one man to another ; nor are they, 
of all men, ignorant of the "conventionalities of society." If 
I have not seen very generally among editors of newspapers, 
and other literary men, what any sensible person would consider 
the true gentleman, — not in the sense in which the word is 
used in England, — I have never seen any at all. Like persons 
in other occupations, they are of various temperaments, and 
exhibit various degrees of cheerfulness. Many are dignified 
and sedate, their minds seeming always to dwell on their work 
and on the great questions of the day ; and many, except when 
hard at work, are as "jolly" as Mark Tapley himself. All 
have their seasons or moments of relaxation ; and I have seen 
the gravest of "night-editors," while "waiting for telegraph" 
at one a. m. , give way to a spirit of playfulness, and for a few 
minutes engage in the highly intellectual recreation of "sky- 
larking," which, in such cases, usually assumes the form of 
throwing bundles of exchanges at one another. But this is no 
daily or nightly occurrence. 

Are there some "editors" who are dolts? Oh, yes. Almost 
any one may call himself an editor. Any one who can write 
a few (almost) grammatic sentences, and who happens to have 
two or three thousand dollars, can " start" a weekly paper and 
be the " editor." It is as easy to " start " a weekly paper as to 
start a blacksmith-shop. To "run" it profitably, and make it 



EDITORS' PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS. 9/ 

respectable, are other considerations. A man's money may- 
make him an "editor," and make "editors" of all the male 
(yes, and female) members of his family ; but it will never make 
them brilliant, or talented, or even sensible. The truth is % 
there are here and there journalists unworthy of the name, who 
have worked their way into the profession by some irregular 
process or other, just the same as there are unworthy "doctors" 
and "lawyers," known respectively as "quacks" and "shys- 
ters. ' ' In each case they are simply impostors, disgracing an 
honorable profession. Journalism is not exempt from its 
' ' quacks ' ' and ' ' shysters. ' ' 

It has almost passed into a proverb that editors are "drink- 
ing men." So are all men ; but it cannot be ignored that what 
is meant by "drinking men" is, men who habitually drink 
stimulating liquids. Well, to speak the truth, and I don't 
think of speaking anything else in this volume, I never met an 
editor who would not, in season, "take a drink" of ale or 
whisky ; but there are probably to be found as few drunkards, 
or even immoderate drinkers, in journalism as in any other pro- 
fession — if not fewer. There are many brilliant writers — 
some brilliant men outside of journalism and literature — who 
at times "drink too much," who, to put it bluntly, have actu- 
ally been seen "drunk; " but these are exceptional cases, and 
they attract the more attention, and are the more talked about, 
because of the prominence of the unfortunate gentlemen. 

I once called on a famous journalist whom I had never before 
seen, — although we had often exchanged thoughts through our 
papers, — and found him in a condition of hilarity evidently in- 
duced by too much alcohol. I will not mention his name, for 
if I did it would almost make intemperance respectable. But 
this man was not an habitual drunkard. He occasionally 
" drank too much " and it " went to his head," and he did his 
9 G 



98 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

work — a great work, — and his private habits were nobody's 

business — except, perhaps, the business of idle and prying 

fools. 

. Nearly all editors drink more or less; a few occasionally 

"drink too much," that is, more than is physically good for 

them ; but that dissipation is a characteristic of editors is a silly 

exaggeration that I am almost ashamed to have noticed at all. 

Why do nearly all writers drink? Every physiologist will 
bear me out in the statement that brain-work — particularly 
when rapid and excessive — exhausts the nervous principles of 
vitality faster than the most arduous and irksome physical labor. 
The brain is the head-quarters of the whole body, and when 
a constant draft is made on it, for even so much as an hour, the 
drainage of power must be incalculably greater than when only 
the right arm is exercised. 

Without entering upon the .subject scientifically, or giving 
anything like an analysis of the brain, — which embraces about 
six hundred different kinds of substances, — I will only proceed 
to say that in my own experience I have suffered from a few 
hours' hard work, both as editor and reporter, a feeling of 
"goneness," of exhaustion, from the head down; a sense of 
being on the brink of falling to pieces ; a notion of a hollow 
place in the skull, into which the air was trying to drive its way 
by the pressure of its own weight, and kindred feelings, never 
approached in my own experience, by sensations produced by 
excessive physical exertion, even when — as in the army — 
associated with a want of food. When this feeling — a kind of 
shadowy sense of dissolution — comes on, after hours of close 
application to the hardest kind of mental work, there is nothing 
that so quickly and fully restores the nerves and brain to a 
normal feeling, and so effectually props them up, as alcohol. 
^ Night-work, for example, is a poison, constant and sure, to 



EDITORS' PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS. 99 

editors, reporters, proof-readers and compositors, who, when 
employed on morning papers, must work chiefly at night and 
do their sleeping in day-time. In common with other intellectual 
night-workers, the night editor suffers "with his eyes." When 
I was a boy I used to think that the toothache was, perhaps, 
the finest bit of torture that could be devised ; but I at one 
time, a few years ago, suffered so acutely from a temporary 
affection of the eyes, caused by newspaper work at night, that I 
would have welcomed the toothache as a ray of sunshine. 

The manifold spoken of in another chapter, as being very 
trying even in day-time, is doubly so at night, when the glaring 
gas-light makes it a flimsy shadow, and this is a fruitful source of 
discomfort to the eyes and brain. The brain does not merely 
tire during intense intellectual labor ; it burns up ; it crumbles 
away, like the clay and gravel of a bluff scattering before the 
streams of water in hydraulic mining. I have often walked 
forth — tottered, I might say — from a newspaper office at three 
or four o'clock in the morning, with such a feeling of vital 
exhaustion, such a sense of a considerable amount of brain 
substance having been used up, and such a general sensation of 
nervous prostration, as to make the impression irresistible that 
the system had been worn down to a point from which it was 
in vain to hope to rally. This feeling is quickly counteracted 
by stimulants, which, used in moderation at such times, are a 
blessing to the night editor. Without them, the brain having 
become irritated by vexatious work through the long hours of 
the night, he will find it difficult to get into a natural sleep 
when he goes home. At. such times more than usually applicable 
are both Cassio's remark, "Every inordinate cup is unblessed, 
and the ingredient is a devil," and Iago's reply, " Come, come, 
good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used." 
I have frequently — so have all journalists — on extraordinary 



IOO SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

occasions, stayed up and worked all night and a portion of the 
ensuing forenoon, finally going home at ten or eleven o'clock 
in the day, after working twenty-six hours without even a stolen 
nap of five minutes, and then I have experienced the greatest 
difficulty in getting to sleep at all. A morbid wakefulness, 
accompanied with a very sensible feeling of nervous weakness, 
would take possession of me ; and when I did succeed in wooing 
sleep, my rest would be broken and unnatural, and could rarely 
be made to last more than a couple of hours, when, by all rules 
of proportion, I needed six times that amount of rest, and a 
much better quality of the article, besides. This is a mere 
glance at the hardships of the newspaper editor. 

The prodigality as well as the generosity of journalists is 
proverbial, and I need say little on the subject. Few editors 
get rich, or try to. None are misers. I never saw more than 
one mean journalist. He had worked many years, lived poorly, 
amassed almost a fortune, merely from his salary, and was very 
generally despised by his colleagues. As a rule, editors insist 
on living well, although they eat to live, rather than live to eat. 
They are not generally " big eaters ;" yet I have seen some who 
took in nourishment like men accustomed to great physical 
exertion. As might be expected, from the nature of their occu- 
pation, their sedentary habits and their often enforced irregu- 
larity in eating, they are more than ordinarily exposed to attacks 
of indigestion ; although I have known of but few cases of actual 
dyspepsia among journalists. 

There is a silly impression among some classes of persons, 
who, it is scarcely necessary to state, know least about newspaper 
men, that they have not a proper appreciation of the enormity 
of falsehood — that, in a word, they would a little rather publish 
an untruth, if it would answer the purpose, almost as well as the 
truth. It seems almost too ridiculous to be worth alludin°- to 



EDITORS' PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS. IOI 

at all, yet it has been made the subject of "chaff; " and in 
circles of society where one might have had reason to expect a 
higher degree of knowledge — to say nothing of those "conven- 
tionalities " — I have more than once heard such humorous (but 
not witty) remarks as this : 

" Oh, you don't expect to get the truth out of him, do you? 
He 's an editor." 

The fact is, aside from the moral aspect of the case, there is 
no set of men whose business it so strictly is to tell the truth as it 
is the business of journalists. They are always seeking for facts — 
only facts — and always guarding against the possibility of even 
accidentally deceiving their readers. Occasionally, a respectable 
journal is "sold" by a perfidious correspondent, or falls into 
the blunder of publishing spurious news furnished by a chance 
ignorant or too-credulous reporter; and in such cases it becomes 
a target for the satire of its more fortunate contemporaries. 
Nothing so mortifies the proprietors and editors of a paper as 
to learn that, even through accident or inadvertence, their 
readers have been furnished with untrue or inaccurate state- 
ments. There is, to be sure, a good deal of lying done in the 
world, and the editor ought to be allowed to do his share, 
although I don't believe he does it. 

I should be derelict, if, while on the characteristics of editors, 
I should fail to allude to the peculiarities of their manuscripts. 
It is the general impression — a pretty correct one — that 
editors are not fine penmen. I cannot better dispose of this 
subject than by quoting an article which I find in an old copy 
of the Concord (N. H.) daily Patriot, which journal I had the 
pleasure of conducting for a year or two for the Messrs. Bailey, 
formerly proprietors of the Boston Herald, and the enterprising 
gentlemen who made the latter the stupendous financial success 
to which it attained during the war : 



102 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

It is scarcely necessary to remark that, as a rule, editors do not write so 
plainly as bank-clerks or schoolmasters. The fact is probably everywhere 
known, and nowhere disputed. But why is it so ? — or, in the language of 
Artemus Ward, "why is this thus?" If any one imagines that editors 
write a bad hand solely to annoy the compositors, he is entirely mistaken. 
Editors naturally acquire a habit of writing very rapidly ; if they did not, 
they would seldom get their day's work done before the middle of the next 
afternoon — and haste is not favorable to the development of calligraphy. 
But this is not the whole solution of the problem. The truth is, the editor's 
mind is never on his penmanship. While he writes he is thinking of the 
subject-matter, and his pen travels along mechanically over the page before 
him, tracing his thoughts in some sort of characters which he intends for 
certain letters of the English alphabet, and which should never be termed 
" crow-tracks," for the reason that they are not half so symmetrical. It is 
a mistake, too, to suppose that compositors are continually "cussing" over 
the almost illegible manuscript of the editor. They "get used to it." It 
becomes part of the printer's art to decipher all sorts of mysterious manu- 
scripts ; and when, in addition to this acquired sagacity, he becomes familiar 
with the handwriting of a certain editor, by being brought in daily, and 
even hourly, contact with it, he reads it almost as readily as "reprint," 
although it would probably be an exaggeration to say that he actually pre- 
fers it to the latter. He does occasionally get "stuck " on a word, when he 
either goes to the editor for enlightenment or "guesses at it," putting in some 
word which is at least about the same size as the mysterious one, and which 
might, possibly, happen to be the right one. In the latter case, he generally 
guesses incorrectly, and a proof goes to the editor with the word " disap- 
pointed " for the word " disaffected ;" " sirloin " for " saline ;" " horse " for 
" house ;" " mad-dog" for " mid-day ;" " anguish" for " English ;"' " obscene" 
for " obscure ;" " onions " for " union ;" etc., etc. The editor, who is very 
busy, frowns tenderly, scratches out the wrong words and writes the right 
ones in the margin, — in a worse hand than before, — and wonders how the 
compositors could have been so stupid ! 

This nearly covers the whole ground. I might add an illus- 
tration. Suppose it were your object to get from your first 
floor to your second floor as many times a day as possible. How 
would you go about it? Would you stop to study grace of 



EDITORS' PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS IO3 

motion ? No. That would be no consideration. Your object 
would be to get up as quickly as possible, even should you scram- 
ble up like an ape. It is so with the editor. His object is to 
record his thoughts as rapidly as possible; his penmanship 
becomes merely his flight of stairs. And, in this view of the 
case, one who for the first time sees a fac-simile of Horace 
Greeley's hand - writing, for example, might well exclaim: 
"Such a getting up-stairs ! " 

Much has been said of Greeley's extraordinary chirography, 
and I have to confess that when I first saw a specimen of it I 
was bewildered. It is not to be wondered at that compositors 
not familiar with his manuscript at first became confused, and 
made many amusing blunders. Many stories are told on 
this head. A Tribune compositor once told me several, 
among which were these : Greeley once wrote an editorial 
on the progression of the Celtic race, and headed it, "Foot- 
steps of the Celt." The compositor was so nearly accu- 
rate as to get it, "Footsteps of the Colt," which certainly 
has a literal air about it. Once he wrote an article headed 
"William H. Seward," and of course the compositor did not 
fail to make it "Richard the Third." 

In the "Life and Times of Horace Greeley," I find the fol- 
lowing well-authenticated anecdote : 

The town of Sandwich, Illinois, is a place of great progressive spirit as 
well as the home of many intelligent people. It has a lecture association, 
of course. Mr. M. B. Castle, banker and lumber-merchant, as his letter- 
heads plainly indicated, and also the proper officer of the association, wrote 
to Mr. Greeley inviting him to lecture at Sandwich, His reply, as published 
by the newspapers, should have read as follows : 

" Dear Sir. — I am overworked and growing old. I shall be 60 next Feb. 3. On the 
whole, it seems I must decline to lecture henceforth, except in this immediate vicinity, if I 
do at all. I cannot promise to visit Illinois on that errand — certainly not now. 

" Yours, Horace Greeley. 

" M. B. Castle, Esq., Sandwich, 111." 



104 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Mr. Castle, with the aid of Sandwich experts, deciphered Mr. Greeley's 
letter on the wrong rule, and replied as follows : 

" Sandwich, 111., May 12. 
" Horace Greeley : Dear Sir. — Your acceptance to lecture before our association next 
winter came to hand this morning. Your penmanship not being the plainest, it took some 
time to translate it ; but we succeeded ; and would say your time, ' 3d of February,' and 
terms, '$60,' are entirely satisfactory. As you suggest, we may be able to get you other 
engagements in this immediate vicinity ; if so, we will advise you. 

" Yours respectfully, M. B. Castle." 

Mr. Greeley's rejoinder to this letter was discovered to be emphatic, but it 
still awaits a literal "translation." 

The story is told that Mr. Greeley once became disgusted 
with the blunders of one of the Tribune compositors, and sent 
a note up to the foreman saying that the said compositor was 
inefficient, and requesting him to dismiss him at once, and 
never again to employ him on the Tribune. The foreman 
obeyed instructions, and the compositor put his coat on. Be- 
fore leaving, however, he managed to get possession of Horace's 
note to the foreman, and immediately went to a rival office, and 
applied for work, showing the note as a recommendation. The 
foreman to whom he applied " read " the note, and said : 

" O, I see — 'good and efficient compositor' — ' employed a 
long time on the Tribune' — 'Horace Greeley,' " — and inci- 
dentally asked : 

" What made you leave the Tribmie f" 

' I've been away for some time," [meaning ten minutes.] 

This was understood, however, to imply that he had been 
absent from the city, probably for weeks or months, and, 
returning to find his place filled, of course, could not go to 
work at once on the Tribune ; so, the blundering compositor 
was at once set to work in a rival office, on the strength of 
Horace's certification of his inefficiency, having been "out of 
a job ' ' about fifteen minutes. 



EDITORS' PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS. 105 

The bearing of editors toward each other, as well as toward 
their friends, is marked by the most delicate courtesy ; and 
those in authority never " give orders " or instructions to their 
subordinates in an abrupt or offensive manner. The Managing 
Editor never says, " Do this," or, " Do that," as the "boss " 
speaks to one of a gang of street-laborers. " Mr. Brown, will 
you be kind enough to make a note of this in your 'Amuse- 
ments ? ' " says the Managing Editor to the Theatrical Critic, 
handing him a slip of paper \ or, to some other member of the 
staff — " By the way, Mr. Smith, won't you please have that 
article on ' Railroad Statistics' ready for to-morrow?" — and 
that is about the harshest language you ever hear in the editorial 
rooms. 

Newspaper men, while so accustomed to giving much atten- 
tion to political matters as almost inevitably to make them 
politicians, are liberal in their views, and it is quite common 
to find an editor who is a Democrat employed on the staff of a 
Republican paper, or a Republican editor employed on a 
Democratic paper. This would excite no more remark in 
journalistic circles than the employment by a Democratic 
builder of a Republican painter to paint his house. The Editor 
and the Managing Editor of a paper, however, must, of course, 
be men who entertain views in keeping with its pronounced 
sentiments. I happen to know of a certain daily paper, in a 
large city, which had been a Republican paper up to the year 
1872, when, after a long conference between the Editor and 
the Managing Editor, it was decided to make it a Liberal 
Republican paper, opposing the re-election of President Grant. 
About the conclusion of the consultation, the former gentle- 
man said : 

"Of course, Mr. A , as we have heretofore supported 

Grant, we must not come out against him too abruptly or 



106 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

harshly, but oppose him — for awhile, in any event, — in a 
courteous and argumentative way." 

"Oh, to be sure," responded the Managing Editor; "I 
shouldn't think of calling him an ass before about the begin- 
ning of September." 

This was in June ; and it will be generally agreed that such 
a careful spirit of deliberation as would prompt an editor to 
call a former political friend an ass only after three months' 
gradual preparation, is to be highly admired. 

Editors, with minds nearly always deeply absorbed in some 
subject or other, are sometimes unconsciously guilty of conduct 
which amounts almost to "snubbing" people. An associate 
of mine, noted for his absent ways at times, was one day 
writing intently, when a visitor, one of his own intimate 
friends, sitting near his elbow, innocently asked : 

' ' Have you seen Booth yet ? ' ' 

My colleague, with an impatient shake of the head, and a 
general snappishness of manner, responded : 

" Good God ! Be still a minute, won't you ? " 

Then, scratch — scratch — scratch — in the midst of a surround- 
ing silence ; for he did not stop writing, for even so much as a 
quarter of a second ; and at the end of a minute, having finished 
his editorial, he straightened himself up for a brief rest, scraped 
a match on his table and relighted a cigar that had lain neg- 
lected for fifteen or twenty minutes, and, perfectly unconscious 
of having uttered any harsh language, said, cheerfully : 

"Oh, by the way, what was it you said just now, Charlie? 
I was busy, and I believe I forgot to answer you. ' ' 

Editors, as a rule, are good-tempered, but their work has an 
undoubted tendency to make them irritable at times — on which 
subject more will be said in another chapter. When the editor 
is right angry " thou hadst been better have been born a dog 



EFFECTS OF BRAIN-WORK, 10/ 

than answer (his) waked wrath." One of the most animated 
scenes I ever witnessed was a wordy row between a Managing 
Editor and Foreman, on account of something having "gone 
wrong." Both stood straight up, glared upon each other like 
angry lions, and for some few minutes fairly tried which could 
swear the hardest ; and, humiliating as the confession is, I 
have to say that the Foreman was victorious, being at least 
half-a-dozen plain "damns" ahead when the contest term- 
inated. 



CHAPTER XII. 

EFFECTS OF BRAIN- WORK. 



WHEN a man — the blacksmith is the usual example — is 
accustomed to using his right arm continually, striking 
heavy blows and swinging ponderous implements about his head 
from morning till night, the muscles of that right arm are 
developed to an unusual degree, and the whole member grows 
very strong, so that it will do more, endure more, and be less 
seriously affected by injuries from external violence than an arm 
accustomed only to an ordinary amount of exercise. 

"It is just so with the brain," you will say; but it is not. 
True, the brain is developed by its exercise, in the shape of 
mental labor, and a continual habit of thinking fits it for thinking 
clearly and rapidly ; but here the analogy ceases. The brain 
is of so much more delicate structure than the muscular arm, 
which is only one of its servants, and its functions are of a nature 
so much more refined, that it is naturally much more susceptible 
of injury, either from internal strain or external violence. You 
may sustain a considerable bruise on your arm ; you may strain 



108 SECRETS OE THE SANCTUM. 

or overwork its muscles so as to produce soreness for a week or 
two at a time ; and it will be no serious matter. A corre- 
sponding amount of injury to the brain would result in inflam- 
mation of the membranes, brain-fever, possibly insanity or con- 
gestion, resulting in death. 

How shall I illustrate the rapid wearing away of the brain, 
the steady exhaustion of vitality, in the case of the hard-working 
editor? The brain may fairly be likened to the steam-engine 
of a large mill. It is the engine of the body, and the nerves 
through which it directs all the movements of the body are its 
belts and shafts. When the steam-engine of the mill is doing 
its legitimate work, disseminating power through the great 
building, sending the belts flying on their endless rounds, and 
whirling the heavy shafts and wheels, its action is normal and 
healthy, and, if I may be allowed to compare it to a living 
thing, it feels rather better when night comes in consequence 
of its exercise. 

But sever its connection with the ponderous works that 
ramify through the building ; relieve it of the exertion necessary 
to move the hundred pieces of machinery ; leave it alone, with 
only its fires, its boilers, its cylinders, its piston-rods and 
fly-wheel, and let it rush on. It is then working all within 
itself, while the great body of the establishment stands still ; its 
fires roar as usual ; the vanishing streams of water rapidly as 
ever change into pent-up steam, chafing like a caged lion to 
burst the iron bounds within which it is confined ; the piston- 
rods dart back and forth like bolts of lightning; the heavy 
fly-wheel hums round, making the walls and the earth itself 
tremble and shake; then that engine is wearing itself away 
much faster than if it were running the vast machinery of the 
mill, and it is in danger of sudden wreck. 

It is so with the working brain. It is accustomed to running 



EFFECTS OF BRAIN-WORK. ICg 

the machinery of the whole body, and so dividing and doling out 
its steam-like powers in steady streams. It directs every move- 
ment; it says to the right hand, "Do this," and to the left, 
" Do that," and out through the nerves it sends that strange 
life-power that enables the limbs to obey. Now, when the 
editor sits down to his work, the whole body, with the exception 
of the right hand, is at rest, and the brain, works alone, like the 
crashing engine that finds itself freed from the heavy machinery 
that kept its motion moderate and steady. Through the long 
day or weary night the brain rushes on, like the detached engine 
that whirls its dizzy fly-wheel ; and it is not strange that the 
tenement of the brain trembles, like the walls of the building ; 
that the brain itself collapses, as when the engine flies to pieces ; 
and that the whole fabric crumbles and falls before its time. 
The power of the mill is the steam-engine, yet nothing about 
the mill requires such careful and delicate attention ; the power 
of the man is the brain, and one little overstrain upon it may do 
more harm than the mangling of all the limbs. A man may 
live, be physically healthy and mentally brilliant after all his 
limbs have been cut off; but the final burden under which the 
brain breaks down brings apoplexy, then speedy death. Of 
that disease, which fortunately is no lingering one, probably all 
hard-working, certainly all over-worked journalists have felt 
those warning symptoms — vertigo, unnatural drowsiness, im- 
aginary black specks floating before the eyes, a sense of pressure 
and confusion in the head, and a temporary numbness apparently 
of the brain — sometimes of a limb. 

Undoubtedly, one of the effects of continuous brain-work is 
irritability of temper. I have seen the best-hearted of editors, 
on very trifling provocation, fly into a passion and exhibit an 
amount of rage almost appalling ; and I have more than once, 
when working hard at daily editorial work, allowed myself to 



110 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

give way to fits of irritability on account of little vexations that 
under other circumstances I might have merely laughed at. 
This is a subject that needs careful studying by physicians ; but 
that they would be able to devise a remedy, except the entire 
abandonment of mental work, seems to me improbable. 

Just here it occurs to me that a number of eminent literary 
men — so great a number as to suggest something more than a 
mere coincidence — have not lived happily as heads of families. 
Shakespeare, Byron, Bulwer, Dickens, and a number of others 
I could mention, even went so far as to separate from their 
wives. In each case it was the voluntary act of the husband. 
Might it be that the wives of those and similar men, while per- 
haps as good as the average woman, failed properly to " under- 
stand" their husbands — failed to realize the great importance, 
to literary men, of perfect tranquillity in their homes, where their 
wearing and chafing work is done ? This is a phase of the sub- 
ject that might well be studied with profit — not by physicians, 
but by the wives of journalists and other literary men. 

Byron said tdaat he could not bear to be interrupted while 
writing, and that Lady Byron (although one might think that 
she must have known it) paid no attention to this "whim." If 
there is any man who ought not to be subjected to petty annoy- 
ances it is the literary man at work, or the journalist who comes 
home after many hours of severe mental labor. When an editor 
has sat in his chair seven or eight hours, straining his brain at 
his arduous work, and gets up almost staggering and goes home 
with a dizzy head, it may well be surmised that he has need of 
quiet and peaceful surroundings ; nor will it seem strange if, on 
such occasions, he does not always feel in the mood for going 
forth and taking his wife to the opera, or accompanying her on 
a bit of a shopping expedition, to bend his great energies to 
the task of superintending the purchase of a spool of thread. 



MY "ASSISTANT." Ill 

CHAPTER XIII. 

MY ''ASSISTANT." 

IN journalism, more than in any other vocation, it is difficult 
to give rules clearly to guide those seeking for information. 
In the cases arising under any rule that might be given, the ex- 
ceptions would generally constitute a majority. It would be a 
stupendous task, for example, to divide all the newspapers in 
this country into classes. It has been suggested that, in the 
"Darwinian Theory" of the "descent of man," a link is 
missing — a link, I believe, between the lowest type of " human 
beings," such as certain tribes of wild Australians, and the 
actual brute, the gorilla — that but for that missing link we 
might clearly trace animal life, by regular steps, from the most 
highly-developed race of men down to the jelly-fish. In the 
newspaper world there is no such missing link. You may go 
from the lowest to the highest, and from the highest to the 
lowest, without discovering a well-defined break at which to 
draw a line ; so, as Darwin, the eminent naturalist, says of all 
living creatures, you find yourself obliged to say of the news- 
papers : "They have a common origin; they are all, so to 
speak, one family ; they are one flesh and blood ; one life ; — 
only, they are surrounded by various circumstances, and are in 
various stages of development." There are daily newspapers 
with a hundred editors, reporters and miscellaneous writers; 
some with only ninety-nine ; some that sink to ninety-eight ; 
some, I am ashamed to say, with only ninety-seven ; and so on, 
clear down to on€. Yes, I know of more than one daily whose 
whole staff, including editors, reporters, correspondents and 
miscellaneous writers, consists of but one man. He is The 



112 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Editor ; he is his own Managing Editor ; he is his own City- 
Editor; he is all his own assistants and reporters; aye, all his 
own contributors and correspondents. 

In a city about the size of San Jose, California, and no in- 
calculable distance therefrom, I some years ago occupied the 
position of Managing Editor of a small daily, an afternoon 
paper. Its owner was a wealthy politician, ambitious for 
honors; largely interested in such extensive industries as 
mining ; a shrewd business man, possessing good judgment in 
matters of every-day interest. He was The Editor, and his 
paper — the Watchman — gave him influence; but it was 
scarcely oftener than once or twice a week that he lightened my 
labors by contributing a " leader." 

I had one "Assistant" (of whom I shall speak at length) 
in the sanctum, and one regular reporter, with a couple of occa- 
sional assistants; and I thus did the duties at once of City 
Editor and Managing Editor. Nor had we any regular proof- 
reader, so that the proof all had to be read in the editorial 
room. We issued two editions of the Watchman every after- 
noon, and gave daily fourteen columns of fresh reading matter, 
including two or three columns of telegraph dispatches and 
various carefully-compiled "departments." With no City 
Editor, I had to keep a strict eye to the " locals." I had to see 
and examine everything that went into the paper, as well as 
much that did not, besides doing a vast amount of actual work 
myself. 

The work in the office was certainly enough for from two to 
three robust editors, but it was my misfortune, during a year of 
the time I served as Managing Editor of the Watchman, to be 
cursed with an "Assistant," of whom merely to say that he was 
inefficient would be an insult to the English language — would 
be equivalent to calling it a pauper ! Good heaven ! It was 



MY "ASSISTANT." 1 13 

years ago, but to this day a gloom steals over me whenever I 
think of those miserable days of toil and vexation ! 

His name was Job Stretcher. 

He was a lank, attenuated, long-legged, gangling gawk, over 
six feet in length, whose age might have been anywhere from 
twenty-five to forty years ; and a glance at him would have 
suggested that his proper place was in the bean-patch — except, 
perhaps, for the great probability of his being mistaken for one 
of the poles. He was "hatchet-faced " to the last degree, so 
that it would scarcely be an exaggeration to say that it was 
necessary to take a side-view of his face in order to see it at all. 
It was so thin as to become, to one looking straight at him from 
the front, almost invisible, like a sheet of paper with the edge 
directed toward the observer. He was at once ugly, presumptu- 
ous, awkward, officious, uncouth, meddling, lazy, delinquent, 
insubordinate, negligent, careless, ill-mannered, a bore and an 
ass ; more in the way than useful ; and, to crown all, with such 
an over-toppling sense of his own greatness that one might have 
dreaded — had Job Stretcher been a fighting man, which he 
wasn't — to hint in his presence the possibility of the existence 
of a man of a still superior mind, anywhere in the country, or 
the world, or the universe, in any age, past, present, or to 
come. 

" How then did he maintain his place as 'Assistant ' a whole 
year," you will ask, "the Managing Editor having the power 
to employ his own assistants ? ' ' 

It was this way : I found him there when I first took charge 
of the Watchman; he was a distant relative of the proprietor 
— but that consideration taken alone would not have made 
much difference ; and it happened to be hard just at that time 
to find the proper man to take his place. So, day after day, 
week after week, and month after month, I silently bore with 
10* H 



114 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

him, till life itself began to be a bore to me. I had good 
reasons for wishing to remain in my position for some time ; 
and, besides, I did not wish to leave the proprietor in the lurch. 
as it was no fault of his; so, I endured it. I had only had 
charge of the Watclnnan a month when I spoke to the pro- 
prietor on the subject. 

" Mr. Wellington," I said one evening, when he and I were 
alone in the office, " Mr. Stretcher, although a very good 
fellow, I trust, in some other sphere of life, is, I am sorry to 
say, not competent as a journalist, and very poorly fills the 
position of 'Assistant ' on the Watchman. As he is related to 
you, I thought I would not like to put another man in his place 
without first mentioning it to you." 

"Ah?" he replied. "Well — the relationship is nothing. 
As you are aware, I know very little of the details of your 
department, and expect you to run it according to your judg- 
ment, purely with reference to the interests of the Watchman. 
I would like Mr. Stretcher to stay if he were a good and faith- 
ful 'Assistant ; ' but if he is not, get some one in his place. I 
leave the matter entirely in your hands. Look around for a 
proper 'Assistant,' and when you have found one employ him 
in Mr. Stretcher's place, at about the same salary. Don't con- 
fine yourself to the figure, if you find you cannot get the right 
man without paying a few dollars more." 

This was fair enough, and spoken like the sensible man Mr. 
Wellington was ; and from that time forth I spent most of my 
leisure time looking around for Job Stretcher's successor. For 
various reasons, it was a year before I succeeded in securing 
the right man. I once went to San Francisco and tried to 
engage an "Assistant." I did engage one, but he did not 
come. Another, who would have taken the place, died ; an- 
other I found, in the course of a brief interview, to be no more 



MY " ASSISTANT! ■ 1 1 5 

competent than Job Stretcher himself ; another, who seemed 
competent, wanted a larger salary than I got myself; and so on. 
I even advertised in a San Francisco paper, and took a run up 
on the train half-a-dozen appointed evenings, where at the 
office of a friend, a lawyer, I received a few applicants, none 
of which proved acceptable. Among others who responded, 
an ignorant man came with his son, a stupid-looking fellow of 
sixteen years, and offered him for the position, saying that the 
boy had never had any experience in newspaper work, but he 
was sure I could soon " learn " him, and that in the course of 
a few years he would prove of great value to me. So time 
wore on, and so day after day, for a year, I struggled through 
the work of two editors, enduring an amount of annoyance 
from my "Assistant " that I think was harder to bear than the 
work itself. 

One afternoon, when the work of the day was over, and 
when the last copy for the five-o'clock edition had been sent 
into the composing-room, I was occupying a leisure hour by 
making a few miscellaneous selections from exchanges, for the 
next day, and Job Stretcher, looking lanker than ever, was 
lolling back in an old wooden arm-chair, his tremendous heels 
laid up on one end of the large writing-table in the centre of 
the floor, — a habit of his which I detested, — and he smoking a 
horrible pipe, I received a call from a distinguished tragedian 
who had a brief engagement in our little city. I had expected 
him at some time in the course of the day, and was glad that 
he came at so happy a time, the hurry of the day being over, 
for I anticipated some minutes of agreeable conversation with 
him, relative to the stage. 

The tragedian (whom I shall here style Mr. B ) was 

ushered into our sanctum by Mr. F , an old personal friend, 

and the editor of a rival paper, and both, I need scarcely say, 



Il6 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

were polished gentlemen. As I had never met the gentleman 
of histrionic fame, Mr. F promptly introduced us. 

Of course, the presence of Job Stretcher could not be ignored 

— but how I wished it could ! — and seeing Mr. B glance 

half-curiously at him I introduced my "Assistant" both to 

him and Mr. F , who also had never met him before. The 

tragedian, as well as Mr. F , greeted him politely, to which 

he merely responded, " H' are ye?" He did not even rise, 
but I was glad that he at least took his ponderous feet off the 
table — or rather allowed them to fall off, and they came 
down upon the floor with a crash, amid which general con- 
fusion, and mortification on my part, I managed to seat my 
visitors. 

Then an awkward pause followed, and I could see that they 
marveled at the extraordinary deportment of my "Assistant," 
while I know that they did not fail to notice my mortification, 
and, I trust, to feel for me. But the silence did not last long. 
It was broken by Job Stretcher. Not that he spoke, exactly ; 
but, thrusting his feet far away beneath the table, and reclining 
a little lower in his chair, he stretched his long form nearly 
straight, like a fence-rail leaning upon a stump in a corn-field, 
and opening his immense mouth to the verge of decapitation, 
executed an infernal yawn, with a vocal accompaniment like the 
growl of a dog, then closed his jaws with a snap, like an alli- 
gator entrapping flies. After that, he articulated. 

"By jingo ! " he said, with a nasal twang about as musical 
as the sound caused by the extrusion of a cow's foot from a 
mud-hole, and with a coarse disregard of the presence of my 
visitors that must have been little less than offensive to them. 
" I 'm darned glad this day's work 's over ! " [How I wished 
the day was, too !] "Did you ever," he said, addressing the 
tragedian with the rude familiarity he might have assumed 



MY "ASSISTANT." 1 17 

toward a daily lounger, "did you ever work on a news- 
paper?" 

"No — I — " 

"Well, you needn't want to," said Job Stretcher, inter- 
rupting Mr. B quickly, as if afraid he was about to say 

something very distasteful, if allowed to proceed. "No, sir-ee, 
you needn't want to. It 's work — work — work, all the time. 
No end to it! " 

The audacity of the fellow ! this worthless shirker of duty, 
who, perhaps, did daily one-tenth of the work of which he 
should have done about one-half! who came to the office at ten 
or eleven o'clock, when I was there at eight; who talked, and 
meddled, and " blowed " more than he worked when he did 

come ! I was still too much annoyed to speak, and Mr. F 

kindly put in a few observations about the fine weather we were 
having. This gave the tragedian — who was from the East — 
a chance to say that he was delighted with our climate, of which 
he had heard much before paying our State a visit. I began to 
recover the power of speech, and was about to say that we 
enjoyed delightful weather — probably fifteen days out of every 
twenty of the whole year — when Job Stretcher put in, with an 
almost excited air : 

" Yes — but you just ought to be here in the rainy season ! " 

"Unpleasant, then, at times?" suggested the actor. 

Job Stretcher did not reply in the English language, but 
shook his head solemnly, elevated his eyebrows, puckered his 
mouth and uttered a long — 

"Wh— e— w!" 

Mr. B almost started in alarm, and I feared that he might 

think the strange person — Job — not only of unsound mind, 

but actually dangerous. Mr. F also looked a little puzzled. 

The very extremity of the case gave me strength and calmness, 



Il8 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

an awful and smothered calmness, and I found myself able to 
say: 

" On account of the porous nature of the soil in this locality, 

Mr. B , we find it almost impossible to keep our streets and 

public roads in a very tidy condition during the rainy season. 
That is one slight drawback — but of a transient nature." 

"No end of mud," said Job Stretcher, entirely ignoring 
what I had said, and the fact that I had spoken at all. " Mud, 
mud, mud ! " 

There was another awkward pause, Job Stretcher being the 
only person in the room who was perfectly at his ease. It was 
again his prerogative — or he considered it to be — to break 
the silence. This he did in the following manner : 

He laid, or rather threw, his pipe, from which he had recently 
taken several faint whiffs, upon the table, scattering a train of 
gray ashes over an exchange, seized the arms of his chair with 
his bony hands, poised himself on his seat, and dragging his 
feet out from under the table, drew his whole reptile-like body 
up, as if suffering from acute cholera, into something like the 
form of a "W," gave vent to an extended yawn, followed by 
a vigorous expulsion of vocalized breath in the shape of the 
cabalistic word " Hoo-hoo ! " then uncoiled himself and stood 
up. As his ungainly form assumed a vertical position, like a 
bean-pole, and his ill-shapen head, with its long, neglected and 
straggling sandy hair, went sailing up toward the ceiling, like a 
toy-balloon released by a playful urchin, the tragedian stared in 
dumb amazement, apparently puzzled to divine what strange 
animal it was he was thus unexpectedly allowed to look upon 
free of charge. 

Job Stretcher again yawned and extended his arms in a right 
line, giving to his attenuated form the shape of a dagger (f). 
Then he bent over the writing-table, placed the palms of his 



MY "ASSISTANT." 119 

hands thereon, poised himself upon them, like a circus performer, 
and "kicked up his heels," to the great peril of a picture that 
hung upon the wall just behind him. The feet — those feet ! — 
once more came down upon the floor with an awful thump and 
clatter; and again standing erect, this human ape actually- 
allowed the exuberance of his spirits — so glad to be through 
with another hard day's work ! — to find vent in a regular war- 
whoop. Then he thrust his hands into the pockets of his 
trowsers — which garment, by the way, fitted him almost as 
neatly as a coffee-sack would fit a crooked stick — and walked 
over and gazed out of the window, brushing rudely against the 

arm and shoulder of Mr. B , in passing where that astonished 

gentleman sat. 

There was very little more conversation on that occasion — 
that occasion, which I have not here exaggerated in the mi- 
nutest degree, and which I cannot to this day recall without 
a shudder and a blush. 

But the worst was yet to come. Job Stretcher had one very 
rare peculiarity, to keep company with his other idiosyncrasies : 
he never attended places of amusement — probably concluding, 
in some rare moment of rational judgment, that he was sufficient 
of a curiosity himself. I sometimes offered him tickets, as a 
matter of courtesy, but was always promptly "snubbed" (by 
my " Assistant ! ") with some such remark as, " Oh, pshaw ! I 
don't care for such things ! " This, in a very contemptuous 
tone, as indicating his great superiority over the low and 
groveling nature that could derive pleasure from a histrionic, 
literary, or musical entertainment. 

So, one scene more, and my interview with the famous trage- 
dian — which I had dared to hope might at least afford myself 

some pleasure — closed. He and Mr. F arose to go, and, 

as he extended a hand to me, he said : 



120 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

"Did Mr. L " (mentioning his agent) "leave you suf- 
ficient tickets for to-night?" 

I thanked him, saying I thought he had. I had two myself, 
which were all I needed. 

Then — and I wished that the earth might open and swallow 
me (or Job Stretcher) up — the tragedian turned politely to my 
"Assistant," and said: 

"I have half-a-dozen in my pocket. Mr. Stretcher, perhaps 
you — " 

" Oh," interrupted Job, with a clumsy and contemptuous toss 
of the head, " I've got no time to bother with such things ! " 

If a jet of steam had been turned upon my face it could 
scarcely have felt warmer than it did, as I felt the hot blood 
permeating it. 

The tragedian shook my hand none the less warmly for the 

rude conduct of my "Assistant; " and as he and Mr. F 

moved out I followed them into the hall, (I could n't help it,) 
and whispered apologetically : 

"My ' Assistant ' — he — he 's merely a little singular in his 
ways." 

" Oh, that 's nothing," replied Mr. B , pleasantly, and in 

a tone denoting that he comprehended the situation; then, 

with another cordial word of parting, he and Mr. F took 

their leave ; whereupon I went into an adjoining room, which 
I sometimes used in cases of private consultation with Mr. Wel- 
lington, locked the door and sat down and cried. 

I need not recount the various occasions on which, and the 
many ways in which that curious being, my "Assistant," vexed 
me, nor describe at length his indolence, coarseness and 
omciousness ; but suffice it to say that his conduct in the pres- 
ence of the tragedian and Mr. F was more than usually 

polite, for him ! That, however, mortified and annoyed me 



MY "ASSISTANT." 121 

more than any other single act of his ; but I rejoiced at the 
thought that it was near the termination of his career as my 
"Assistant," for when the end of the week came I coolly dis- 
missed him. I afterward informed Mr. Wellington of the fact. 

" Ah, you have found a man to take his place at last, have 
you? " he said. 

" No — no prospect of any yet." 

" What will you do then? " he asked, in surprise. 

"Until I find some one to assist me, I shall do all the work 
myself. I would rather do so than have that person about me 
any longer." 

" Can you get through with it? " 

"Yes, by coming to the office an hour earlier each morning. 
An hour's work is not less than he has done each day for the 
last year." 

" Well, well ; all right," said Mr. Wellington, rather pleased 
with the dismissal of his distinguished relative than otherwise ; 
"do your best for a few days; but it's too much work. I 
won't rest till I have found a good ' Assistant ' for you, and you 
shall have one if I have to pay a hundred dollars a week for 
him." 

For two weeks only, I did the whole work myself — and it 
was work — preparing and reading the proof of fourteen col- 
umns of fresh matter every day. Yet, after all, I was happier 
and got along better than when pestered by that creature, Job 
Stretcher. At the end of a fortnight I was lucky enough, after 
all my misery, to secure the services of a capable, industrious 
and courteous " Assistant," and he remained with me — every- 
thing running smoothly — till, two years afterward, want of 
rest obliged me to give up the position of Managing Editor of 
the Watchman, and, knowing him to be qualified, I was happy 
to turn it over to him. 
ii 



122 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE RELIGION OF EDITORS. 

I HAVE certainly known some editors of newspapers who 
would consider the title of this chapter a misnomer, claim- 
ing that there are very many gentlemen of our profession who, 
as viewed by orthodox eyes, have no Religion at all. In the 
course of my connection with the press, I have frequently con- 
versed with journalists on this subject, and have found them 
generally partaking of "liberal" views. Some I have found 
to be liberal Christians ; some I have found to have gone so far 
from the generally-recognized doctrines of Churches as to have 
arrived even at Atheism. It seems almost impossible to write 
a work like this, in this country and this age, without more than 
once referring to Horace Greeley. I believe that, whatever 
errors of judgment he may have committed in common with 
the rest of us, no one has ever thought of accusing him of in- 
sincerity ; and it therefore becomes interesting to know his 
views on religious subjects. He was a Universalist from boy- 
hood, and did not acknowledge the divinity of Jesus Christ, 
although I believe that many Universalists do. In his " Recol- 
lections of a Busy Life," I find a chapter with the title of " My 
Faith," which, after a careful review of his meditations and 
reasonings on the subject of religion, and of the circumstances 
which led to his thinking deeply on the rigorous doctrines of 
his orthodox father, concludes as follows : 

Perhaps I ought to add, that, with the great body of the Universalists of 
our day (who herein differ from the earlier pioneers in America of our faith), 
I believe that "our God is one Lord," — that "though there be that are 
called gods, as there be gods many and lords many, to us there is but one 



THE RELIGION OF EDITORS. 1 23 

God, the Father, of whom are all things, one Lord Jesus Christ, by whom 
are all things ;" and I find the relation between the Father and the Saviour 
of mankind most fully and clearly set forth in that majestic first chapter of 
Hebrews, which I cannot see how any Trinitarian can ever have intently 
read, without perceiving that its whole tenor and burden are directly at war 
with his conception of " three persons in one God." Nor can I see how 
Paul's express assertion, that "when all things shall be subdued unto him, 
then shall the Son himself also be subject to him that put all things under 
him, that God may be all in all," is to be reconciled with the more popular 
creed. 

Those who have never given the subject much attention 
would be surprised at the various grades of "unbelief" found 
among persons not adhering to strictly orthodox views. The 
Universalists, for example, do not believe in a place of eternal 
punishment, generally styled " hell," and many of them ignore 
the doctrine of the Trinity. The Unitarians believe in but one 
God, repudiating the Holy Ghost and the Son (Jesus Christ) 
as two other persons of the Godhead. These are church- 
people, nevertheless, but with liberal and advanced views. 
Next, the "Skeptic" might be mentioned. He is simply a 
doubter, as the etymology of the word indicates, a person who 
accepts nothing on bare faith — not even the Holy Bible. He 
wants proof of everything before he believes it, and claims the 
right to pursue his inquiries even into the mazes of the question 
as to whether there is a God or not, and to require positive and 
substantial proof that there is before he accepts it as a settled 
fact. A Skeptic may believe in God, may believe in the im- 
mortality of the soul, may even believe in the divine origin of 
the Bible, but it will only be after he has investigated, inquired 
and reasoned for himself, and has found what in his judgment 
is satisfactory proof; otherwise he would not be a Skeptic at all. 
A Free-Thinker is about the same as a Skeptic. He claims 
and exercises the right to think and investigate for himself, 



124 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

and to be exempt from dictation in the matter by a clergyman, 
or any one else. If, as the result of his own investigations, he 
arrives at the conclusion that the orthodox faith is, after all, 
correct, he is no less a Free-Thinker ; but a majority of persons 
so styled seem to entertain an opposite view of the question. 

I could not cite a clearer example of a Skeptic, in the true 
sense of the term, than Thomas, one of Christ's disciples. He 
had seen his Master put to death on the cross, and his side 
pierced with a spear, and he refused to believe that Jesus had 
risen from the dead until he had " thrust his hand in his side," 
where the wound was made, and examined the laceration caused 
by the nails in the hands and feet. In fact, a writer of Scripture 
— St. Paul, I think — commands us all to be Skeptics when he 
says, Prove all things. 

There, too, is the Deist. He believes there is a God — some 
supreme and intelligent Power controlling the universe — but 
does not believe in revealed religion. He regards the Bible as 
only of human origin and of only historical value. Such was 
Thomas Paine. 

The Atheist, as the word implies, does not believe there is a 
God ; certainly does not believe the Bible to be other than of 
human origin ; and usually sees no positive evidence of the ex- 
istence of an immortal soul, although he may remain in doubt 
on this point all his life. Such was John Stuart Mill. It is 
possible, of course, for a man to ignore the existence of a God, 
yet admit the existence of a subtile principle of life within us, 
the Soul, which may outlast our decaying bodies and retain its 
identity and individuality. Many of the strongest Spiritualists, 
whose whole creed is of course founded on the immortality of 
the soul, deny or doubt the existence of a God. 

" Infidel " is a general term, meaning " unbeliever," as gener- 
ally used, but it may be applied, in the same sense, to almost 



THE RELIGIOX OF EDITORS. 1 25 

any one who does not believe in the creed of another. The 
Buddhist might style the Christian an "Infidel," because the 
latter is an unbeliever in his faith ; and so, with equal propriety, 
might a person of one Christian sect term an adherent to the 
doctrines of another Christian sect. 

Besides the classes of " unbelievers " in the Christian religion 
thus hastily alluded to, there are, even in this country, societies 
of "unbelievers" whose creeds partake of the form of religion, 
but are irreconcilable with the views of orthodox Christians. 
Such are the Jews, the Mormons, the Swedenborgians, and a 
number of other non-secular societies. In other countries 
there are many more, as, for example, the followers of Moham- 
med and of Buddha. In England, persons not adhering to the 
Established Church are looked upon as little more or less than 
" Infidels" by many persons who do adhere to that church. 

Science has done much of late years, in what we are in the 
habit of styling civilized countries, to enhance Skepticism ; for 
in astronomy, geology, natural history, and other studies, there 
have been made various developments of facts which many 
persons consider difficult to reconcile with the theories which 
have their foundation in Scripture. Now, editors of news- 
papers are thinking and reasoning men, if there is any set of 
men who are such as a class ; ever seeking for truth and facts, 
in all phases of life, as well as in the remotest corners of inert 
matter j and hence they are Skeptics, in the strict sense of the 
term, before they know it. They are reading men as well as 
writers, men whose business it is to know what is new, and they 
keep pace with the developments of the sciences, They cannot 
all be finished astronomers, geologists and physicists, but when 
there is anything new in these departments of science, they 
must be the first to know it. Such developments, indeed, have 
been made in the science of geology, that even eminent divines 
11 * 



126 SECRETS OE THE SANCTUM. 

agree that new meanings must be attached to the language of 
Genesis relating to the Creation of the World. So, when old 
forms of belief begin to crumble, it is nc set up new theo- 

ries immediately that will be readily acquiesced in by everybody. 

There, too, is the startling theory of Professor Darwin, that 
all animals, including man, have a common origin, — that man 
has reached his present comparatively high estate through many 
successive stages of development, — that his ancestors of merely 
a few million years ago were very much inferior, even in the 
matter of form, to the present races of men. This is another 
theory irreconcilable with a literal construction of the account 
of the Creation given in Genesis. But that a simple belief in 
the Darwinian Theory does not make an editor a very irreverent 
man, may be conceded when I state that I once heard a well- 
known lecturer on geology say on the rostrum that an • ' emi- 
nent divine " — whom it would now be just as well not to men- 
tion — confessed to him that he himself (the divine) believed in 
the Darwinian Theory, that he considered it the only plausible 
theory of the origin of man, and that he believed the language 
of Genesis should be accepted as having only a figurative 
meaning. The "eminent divine" still believed in the Bible, 
of course, as God's revealed will and work, and also believed 
• God works by means," and that he had made the laws 
by which the great work of Development has been so far car- 
ried out — that is, the development of man from lower animals. 

From the nature of their occupation, journalists are of course 
the first numerous class of persons to become acquainted with 
new doctrines, new theories : the first to give them thoughtful 
consideration, and the aptest to regard them with calm and 
impartial judgment. I think the la: tion is entirely 

reasonable, because editors are so used to dealing daily with 
startling things that in their eyes new and eccentric theories are 



THE RELIGION OF EDITORS, \2J 

speedily shorn of their novelty, and ready to be considered in 
a spirit of coolness and fairness. 

In the course of their daily duties, too, journalists see so much 
that is calculated to disgust them — not with religion itself, but 
with many of its prominent votaries. Defalcations, embezzle- 
ments, "immoralities," and other villanies perpetrated by men 
"hitherto regarded as Christian gentlemen," etc.; church- 
quarrels and church-ruptures ; church-scandals, in the course of 
which Ministers of the Gospel are often found to be incredibly 
carnal-minded ; all these subjects are daily handled by the 
reporter and editor, daily given account of, and daily com- 
mented on by the journalists; and so it is not to be wondered 
at that their alarming frequency tends to lessen, in the minds 
of those who are nearest to them as spectators — the news- 
paper men — respect for societies whose leading upholders 
are so often found wanting in honesty and purity. The fact 
cannot be ignored that a certain amount of obloquy is brought 
upon any institution which is found to be upheld by a consid- 
erable number of persons who prove to be possessed of immoral 
characters — one of the worst traits of which is hypocrisy. 

Among other things at which I have frequently heard 
skeptical journalists express disgust, and which, while it is no 
logical argument against the correctness of religious theories, 
may have strengthened their doubts, is the whining piety of 
murderers who so often swing from the scaffold with the avowed 
conviction that they have "made their peace with God," and 
that they are going straight to heaven, to " dwell with him and 
his angels," and to be "blessed for ever; " while the victim, 
probably not a bad sort of person, is — 

Cut off even in the blossom of (his) sin, 

Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd ; 

No reckoning made, but sent to (his) account 

With all (his) imperfections on (his) head ! 



128 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Before me lies a newspaper, in which the following paragraph, 
by mere chance, thus opportunely catches my eye : 

Udderzook's Execution. — Udderzook is to be hung at West Chester 
on Thursday. During the past few days he has undergone a marked change. 
He looks now as though hope was fast fading from his bosom, and his 
expression denotes his having awakened to the consciousness of his awful 
situation. He expresses a hope to share in the all-forgiving power of God. 

This is an example of a class of cases to which journalists 
often allude in severe terms, not only in private conversation, 
but also, as is well known, in their editorial writings. 

The Boston daily Herald, a paper of large circulation and of 
liberal and independent views, gives a certain amount of space 
in its columns to all, without discrimination, who wish to express 
their sentiments or opinions on questions of general interest, 
only making it a condition that the communications be cour- 
teous in tone and of no unreasonable length. A few years ago, 
when the proposition of adding a religious amendment to the 
Constitution of the United States, and of so taking the first 
step toward destroying religious liberty — a very corner- 
stone in the foundation of our nationality — was agitated, 
some one wrote to the Boston Herald to advocate the measure, 
arguing that a constitutional recognition of Christianity would 
increase its strength and influence, and that with the enhance- 
ment of religion, crime would naturally abate. A day or two 
afterward some one else wrote to the Herald, in reply, as 
follows : 

Editor of the Herald : In writing to you on a question of religion, a 
correspondent has recently maintained that a belief in Christianity is neces- 
sary as a check upon such as are disposed to commit crime. I claim that this 
is no argument as to the correctness of Christian theories; and I also claim 
that religion does not restrain men from committing crime. Nor do I wish 
to beg the question. In support of my assertion I cite the fact that there 



THE RELIGION OF EDITORS. 1 29 

never was a murderer hanged in this country who did not go to the gallows 
a believer in religion ; and all, with but one or two exceptions, have died 
with prayers on their lips and in the full hope of everlasting happiness. 
I believe I am safe in asserting that not one of the class styled " Infidels " 
has ever been hanged, or even convicted of a heinous crime in this coun- 
try. Let me mention a significant fact, supported by statistics : the Auburn 
Penitentiary contains about fifteen hundred convicts — all believers in Chris- 
tianity; and what is still more striking is, that among the inmates of this 
prison the ministiy is more largely represented than any other profession 
or trade — the number of clergymen being twenty-five ! I ask if those 
facts support the theory that a belief in the divinity of Jesus Christ prevents 
men from committing crime? 

Thus journalists are continually handling this subject of re- 
ligion, either for themselves or others, and thus are they con- 
stantly brought face to face with statistics, for and against ; and 
whether those who have become skeptics are on the right road 
or not, I believe it would be only reasonable to concede that, 
together with their orthodox brothers, they have aimed at im- 
partiality in their researches and reasonings. 

I have noticed a great similarity in the experience of dissent- 
ing journalists with whom I have conversed on the subject of 
religious skepticism. Nearly all — I do not remember any ex- 
ception — were born of Christian parents, and brought up "in 
the nurture and admonition of the Lord ; " they began to think 
and reason independently at about the age of manhood ; began 
to lose confidence in the reliability of the Scriptures j to doubt 
the divinity of Jesus Christ ; the existence of a devil and hell ; 
of the New Jerusalem, with golden streets and walls of precious 
stones ; finally, (many of them,) of a Supreme Being. Some 
never got so far as this ; some halted at Unitarianism, Univer- 
salism, Deism, etc., as before intimated. In all cases, however, 
about the first article of the orthodox faith to be abandoned 
was the burning hell. It would therefore seem that a fitting 

I 



130 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

injunction to those who wish to remain believers in the Chris- 
tian religion would be: " Don't take the first step; don't give 
up eternal punishment." 

. I do not wish to obtrude my own views on religion, but I 
think I should fail to be entirely ingenuous, if I did not, while 
on this subject, state that, like many other journalists, I have 
long entertained religious views of the widest liberality. Nor 
have my conclusions been hasty. They have only been reached 
through many gradations of deliberate thought. I have never 
given up an old theory before its untenability was presented to 
my mind as entirely unequivocal. 

But I do not believe that a person's opinions on this or any 
other subject will ever involve his moral character. The most 
honorable of men may be found among Skeptics, just as some 
very dishonorable persons are to be found among those profess- 
ing religion. A rascal will be a rascal, even though he be 
arrayed in a bishop's robes ; an honest man will be an honest 
man, even though he be branded as an " Infidel ! " 

In conclusion, let me say that it was impossible to make this 
work complete, to make it what its title purports, without allud- 
ing briefly to this subject — "The Religion of Editors;" 
and having taken it up, I could entertain no thought of dealing 
with it in any other way than frankly and truthfully. And I 
believe it is due to the large number of skeptical journalists, 
whose power for good or evil is ever great, to say that in aban- 
doning the forms of religion they have not abandoned truth 
and integrity. If they have let go the shadow, they have clung 
still closer to the substance. If I have observed with reason- 
able penetration and judgment, I believe they have a code of 
ethics — no written code — that is noble, and good, and worthy 
of any being, mortal or immortal, a code that says : "Be just. 
for the sake of justice ; be truthful, for the sake of truth ; be 



THE PAY OF NEWSPAPER MEN. 131 

honorable, for the sake of honor ; be nothing and do nothing 
either from fear of punishment or hope of reward j do right 
always, and only because it is right." 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE PA Y OF NE WSPAPER MEN. 

ON the subject of the remuneration of employed newspaper 
men, I find an article in Harper 1 s Monthly, from which, 
as the views of the writer are entirely correct, I make the fol- 
lowing extract : 

The suppression of half our daily papers would greatly advance the art 
of journalism in the United States. Five, six, seven daily papers in a city 
of less than a hundred thousand inhabitants ! Some of these have a corps 
consisting of one individual; and where there are three persons employed, 
the paper feels itself entitled to some rank in the world of journalism. One 
consequence is that two-thirds of all the working journalists in the country 
receive less than the wages of good mechanics; and another consequence 
is that the daily press, published in the midst of an intelligent people, is 
sometimes a daily miracle of calumnious inanity. Falsehood and folly in 
daily papers are not so much an evidence of depravity as of poverty. In- 
telligence and character are costly ; frivolity and recklessness are cheap. 
The incessant abuse of individuals is one of the few resources of an empty 
mind. It cannot discuss principles; it cannot communicate knowledge; 
it cannot enliven by wit and good humor; nothing remains to it but to 
assail character. And even where the decorums of the press are strictly 
observed, we find in the columns of newspapers which are struggling for 
life amazing exhibitions of helpless ignorance. The nauseating trail of 
fifteen dollars a week is seen all over them, a sign of that agonizing contest 
for existence which goes wherever ten are trying to subsist upon means in- 
sufficient for five. 



I32 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Many persons somehow or other drift into journalism who 
were never fitted, either by habit or education, for that calling. 
The result is, they never rise above positions of mere "drudg- 
ery," but remain "hewers of wood and drawers of water" in 
the Sanctum all their lives. Never attaining advanced posi- 
tions, they seldom receive salaries much above fifteen dollars a 
week, and so they go through a life with the idea that they are 
journalists, when the truth is that they are less than good 
entry-clerks, and the fruits of their great minds' labors are 
incomparably smaller than those of the hands of a skillful 
mechanic. If I had to decide whether to be a good mechanic 
or a poor journalist, I would not be a second in deciding to be 
the former. 

On the other hand, many of the brightest journalists in the 
United States have passed through those gloomy stages of 
"moderate pay," and risen to positions the salaries of which 
place them far above petty financial troubles. Some of the 
most brilliant men in newspaper history have worked for from 
five to ten dollars a week ; and — must I tell this " secret," 
too ? — have more than once suffered from an insufficiency of 
food, more than once "gone hungry." But such men, in 
whom there was something of depth, and greatness, and firm- 
ness of purpose, did not remain long in the realms of " Bohe- 
mianism;" and many who once found themselves obliged to 
live, somehow, on five dollars a week, now feel that they are too 
poorly paid at five thousand dollars a year. 

One of the few comparatively wealthy editors I happen to 
know once told me that when he first settled in a certain large 
Western city he "made himself generally useful" in the edito- 
rial department of a daily, a whole summer, for five, and, later, 
six dollars a week. In the autumn another paper engaged him 
at twenty, which was soon advanced to thirty dollars a week. 



THE PAY OF NEWSPAPER MEN. 1 33 

He "stuck to it," became one of the proprietors, finally the 
senior proprietor ; the paper prospered, owing to his judicious 
management ; and, although he has ever been prodigal in his 
expenditures, he is worth half a million dollars. " Good luck " 
aided him in a considerable degree, but his success was largely 
due to natural genius, industry and perseverance. 

I believe the majority of us have passed through the " hard- 
up " days, the days of " dead-brokenness. " What is the use of 
denying it ? I have worked for five dollars a week, and slept 
on a pile of exchanges. I have seen the time that " circum- 
stances over which I had no control" dictated to me the 
necessity — not merely the propriety — of eating plainer food 
than I would have liked — plainer food than the kind I needed 

— and of not even wasting any of that. I have seen the time 

— why should I conceal the truth ? — when a person I know 
very intimately has gone without food for days at a time, and 
that when in excellent bodily health and blessed (?) with an 
unusual appetite. I have seen the days of threadbare clothes, 
of dilapidated shoes, and a "shocking bad hat," and I remem- 
ber that I have blushed at the thought of belonging to the 
" Shabby Genteel," and when it brought the hot blood to my 
face to hear careless, and happy, and well-fed, and well-clothed 
people merrily singing this chorus of a well-known song : 

" Too proud to beg, too honest to steal, 
We know what it is to be wanting a meal ; 
Our tatters and rags we tiy to conceal ; 
We belong to the ' Shabby Genteel ! ' " 

Cases of actual destitution, however, are by no means frequent 
in journalistic life. They are episodes, usually in the earlier 
part of the editor's professional career. I never saw one who 
had the foolish pride, among his brother journalists, not to 

12 



134 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

acknowledge such little former embarrassments and laugh at 
them, years afterward ; yet all had such an amount of pride at 
the time that they would have starved and died rather than 
acknowledge that they were hungry. It is a strange pride, but 
its existence is quite common. I know of nothing that it 
would be harder for a truly proud-spirited man to do than to 
go to any one and say, " I'm hungry," when he is really suffer- 
ing from a want of food. 

I know a certain newspaper man who told me a rather 
amusing story of going without victuals awhile in St. Louis, 
and I made the following sketch of it for Saturday Night, the 
publishers of which paper have given me their cordial per- 
mission to reproduce it here : 

HUNGRY. 

" Hungry?" said Mose. " I should say I was once; and — Lord, pity 
the poor ! — I had never thought it was so hard before. I never told you 
about it ? No ? Well, I thought I had. To tell the truth about it, though, 
I was a little sore on the subject for a year." 

" How was it, Mose ?" 

" I'll tell you, for I can laugh at it now. In the summer of 'sixty-six I 
was on a tour through the Mississippi Valley, as correspondent for a well- 
known paper. I reached St. Louis one Friday evening, expecting to find 
a remittance awaiting me at the post-office. It had not arrived yet, but I 
would have taken my oath, before a notary public, that it would come on 
Saturday. The truth is, I had met with such genial company on the 
steamer from Memphis up that I had not kept back any fair reserve fund; so 
I looked upon that expected remittance with a good deal of veneration. 

" Intending to stay in St. Louis two or three weeks, I took a furnished 
room not far from the Planters' Hotel, paying one week's rent in advance. 
Next thing to be looked after was meals. I took supper at a restaurant, and 
had a dollar left. On Saturday morning I took breakfast, and then went to 
the post-office to get my letter; but — confound it — there was none for me. 
I could have murdered that clerk when he drawled out, ■ N-n-o! ' in answer 
to my inquiry. Well, I went to the post-office twice more that day. I saw 



THE PAY OF NEWSPAPER MEN. 1 35 

a different clerk the last time — a more generous-looking one — and my 
heart beat with hope ; but he could n't lie — there was no letter for me, and 
much as he may have felt pained about it, he had to tell me so. 

"Evening finally overtook me with five cents in my pocket — and no 
letter. In despair I purchased a glass of beer — for it was warm weather 
— and prepared to stare a very quiet Sunday in the face. I — but wait a 
minute, and I'll get you my diary ; then you can read for yourself." 
Mose went up-stairs, and soon returned with a well-worn diary. 
" There," said he, opening to the place. " Begin there." 
He lighted a cigar, and sat with his feet on the mantel, while I read his 
almost illegible pencil-tracks. 

Saturday Night, bedtime. — No remittance to-day. Last cent gone. To- 
morrow is Sunday, and Heaven knows how I am to live through it. No 
meals provided for, and I don't know a soul in St. Louis. Must I go till 
Monday morning without — eating? It cannot be! Some unexpected 
accident will throw a meal in my way — I feel it. 

Sunday Morning. — I have slept late this morning. I seldom have any 
appetite to speak of in the morning; but it just happens this time, with no 
prospect of nourishment, that my stomach is howling. What am I to do ? 
Well, I must walk out. Perhaps a little exercise will do instead of break- 
fast — though exercise,, simply as an article of diet, is not recommended by 
physicians. 

Sunday Noon. — I feel actually hungry. Drank a great deal of water, 
this forenoon, to sort o' fill up. Tried to read. Walked out twice, but only 
returned each time feeling more and more — hungry. 

Sunday Evening. — Twenty-four hours since food has entered my stomach. 
Experience a sense of faintness and prostration at the lower end of the 
breast-bone. Knees weak. Feel no tendency to vigorous physical exer- 
tion. I am hungry — very hungry. Could eat nails. 

Sunday Evening, nine o'clock. — Rather early, but I shall retire. Will 
try slumber as a substitute for food. Providence has thrown nothing in my 
way. I did walk a couple of miles, thinking I might find some money, but 
in vain. Have drunk water ravenously all the evening. What if no remit- 
tance comes to-morrow ? I must not think of it, or I shall go mad ! 

Monday Morning. — Passed a rather restless night. Got up eight or nine 
times, and drank water with a freedom new to me. Think I must have 
been slightly delirious. Dreamed repeatedly of meals. Dreamed once of 



136 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

a whole roast ox. Awoke. Smell of beefsteak coming fiendishly up from 
below, where landlady is preparing breakfast — peaceful, happy breakfast — ■ 
for family; but not for Mose! Bewildered with appetite. Glance at 
uppers of my boots. They look good. Think of starving sailors. 

Monday, eleven A. M. — Joy ! Remittance arrived. Ordered beef- 
steak and mutton-chops both at restaurant. Felt as though I could eat all 
on the table, including napkins, and a leg or two of the table itself. Hun- 
gry ? Whew ! Singular, though, could n't eat much, after all. Very little 
satisfied me for the time. Could n't eat half a meal. Wondered how it 
was. Concluded that stomach got out of practice. But I feel very happy, 
as I clutch a little handful of greenbacks. Think now that I was a fool to 
go hungry all day yesterday. Should have explained matters to the 
benevolent-looking landlady, and got something to eat. Would n't pass 
another such day. Would beg first. I wonder how it feels to starve ? 
Must now write a letter to the Journal, on the manufacturing inter- 
ests of St. Louis. How I do pity the poor ! 

Not every newspaper man has been in actual want, but there 
are times when, through various adverse circumstances, the best 
of journalists may be thrown " out of a job" for awhile, and 
being improvident to the extent of having "nothing ahead," 
their minds being generally occupied by nobler thoughts than 
those relating to the accumulation of money, they find these 
exigencies very awkward, to say the least. On one occasion, 
while connected with the press in a large city of the Atlantic 
Coast, I met an old friend who had for some time been manag- 
ing the editorial department of a well-known Western daily 
paper, but had been obliged to give it up and leave the locality 
on account of becoming a victim of the ague. He had a 
family and but little means, and I told him I would look around 
and try to find an opening for him. I soon learned that an 
assistant was wanted on a paper which I knew very little about, 
and which, as I afterward learned, was struggling for existence. 
Having met one of the proprietors, I called »on him and men- 
tioned my friend, whose abilities I knew to be such that he 



THE PAY OF NEWSPAPER MEN. 1 37 

could have creditably occupied the position of Managing 
Editor of the biggest paper in the country. On the strength 
of my recommendation, the proprietors at once consented to 
engage him, and requested me to "bring him round." I did 
so ; introduced him and left him to make an agreement with 
them. I met him in the street a few days afterward, and 
asked : 

" Well, did you arrive at an understanding? " 

"Yes," he replied ; " but I have to start in on a very small 
salary. How much do you suppose ? ' ' 

" Eighteen dollars? " I guessed. 

"Only thirteen," said he. 

"Rather small, for you," I said. 

" Yes ; but they tell me they have every reason to believe 
that they are going to make a great success of the paper ; that 
the position of Managing Editor will be vacant within a year, 
and that I can thus work myself into a fine position, with a 
handsome salary. I '11, of course, do all I can to build it up." 

"Ah? That sounds better. Then you'll try it for the 
present ? ' ' 

" Yes ; I 'm at work already." 

We parted, neither having two minutes to spare. 

A week later I saw him in the street, leaning against a 
druggist's sign, with his hands in his overcoat pockets, and 
gazing thoughtfully at passing vehicles. There was an unmis- 
takable air of leisure about him, and I said : 

"Ah ! how's this?" 

" I 've left," he replied. 

"What's the matter?" 

" Well, Saturday afternoon came round and they began to 
pay off. They said they were a little short — hadn't got 
fairly under way yet — couldn't well pay me quite all my 



I38 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

week's salary just then, and offered me three dollars on ac- 
count. ' ' 

"Then you left?" 

" Just as soon as I could get my hat on." 

"I should have done so, too," I said. "I'm sorry I 
didn't know they were in such a fix as that, or I should not 
have advised you to go there." 

He soon after took a position on a more substantial paper, 
with which I believe he is still connected, and on which he 
made himself so useful that his services were considered worth 
twenty-eight hundred dollars a year, which is certainly a trifle 
better than thirteen dollars a week, and only three dollars of 
that amount "down." 

In another city I once had a bit of similar experience, and 
more of it, as I worked three weeks on a newly-established daily 
and never got a cent of my salary, which had been fixed at 
twenty dollars a week, to be speedily advanced to twenty-five, 
with a still further increase in the perspective. The paper went 
up, and the proprietor is dead, and — good-by ! He might as 
well have honored me by promising me five hundred dollars a 
week, as he could have paid that amount just as easily as the 
stipulated twenty. 

Some persons have big ideas of the prices paid for manuscripts 
by publishers of weekly story papers. The regular writers for 
such papers are paid an amount, sometimes by the column, that 
prevents their coming to want, but seldom such an amount as to 
give promise of the accumulation of riches. I think it would 
be well enough for a person who contemplates writing for a 
weekly paper not to count on getting over ten or fifteen dollars 
per column for his manuscripts — if they are accepted at all ; 
and if he should get more than that, the surprise will be on the 
sunny side. " Blessed are they that expect little " — for obvious 
reasons. 



THE PAY OF NEWSPAPER MEN. 1 39 

I once had a position on a literary weekly in which it was a 
part of my duty to examine manuscripts offered for publication 
and decide whether they were worthy of acceptation, or entitled 
to be "respectfully declined." During this period of my life, 
I was one evening thrown in the company of a gentleman who 
was introduced to me as Col. Minks. 

"The colonel," said the person who introduced us, "is a 
literary man, like yourself." 

This was highly gratifying, to be sure, and I deemed myself 
in the presence of some eminent historian. In the course of 
our conversation the colonel informed me that he was "writing 
a novel," of which he told me the projected title, and for 
which he said he expected to receive the sum of ten thousand 
dollars. 

I thought this a trifle above the average price paid for novels 
in this country, and ventured to suggest that he would be very 
fortunate should he succeed in getting his price, stating that a 
New York publishing-house had recently offered Dickens him- 
self but twenty-five thousand dollars for his next story. 

" Oh, I 'm certain of getting my price," he said, confidently; 
" and I know I '11 take no less." 

I was, of course, glad to hear it ; and no more was said on 
the subject — I not happening to mention that I was connected 
with the literary paper alluded to above. 

A few weeks later the proprietor of that paper handed me a 
large mass of manuscript, saying : 

" Here is a serial offered by a new contributor. If you have 
time this week, please let me know what you think of it." 

" What does he ask for it? " I inquired, taking up the first 
sheet or two. 

" Five hundred dollars." 

Glancing at the title, I was a trifle surprised to discover that 



140 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

it was the production of no less a person than Col. Minks, the 
ten-thousand-dollar man ! Well, there is such a thing as " blow- 
ing," you know. 

I read the story with the same care and impartiality I should 
have exercised if I had never met its sagacious author ; then did 
what my duty to the publisher and a conscientious regard for 
truth compelled me to do — rejected it. 

The stories of fabulous sums paid by the publishers of weekly 
papers to ordinary story-writers ought to be compiled in a con- 
venient form and made an appendix to that piece of history 
relative to "Aladdin and his Wonderful Lamp." 



CHAPTER XVI. 

DEAD-HEADING. 



IT need scarcely be explained that a "Dead-Head " is one 
who, for some reason or other, usually on account of his 
influential position, is privileged to attend theaters and other 
places of amusement, or to ride in public conveyances, free of 
charge ; or one who may receive free copies of a newspaper, or 
other publication, or, in fact, any other article of a commercial 
value, returning no equivalent therefor. The term is indig- 
enous to the United States, where I think the practice of "Dead- 
Heading" prevails to an extent not yet reached in any other 
country. I do not know the exact origin of the term " Dead- 
Head," or how it first came to be applied to a person who 
receives favors for which others have to pay, for generally the 
" head " of such a person is, in common with his whole body, 
in a living condition. Probably a Dead-Head is so styled for 



DEAD-HEADING. I4I 

about the same reason that one whose business it is to bury the 
dead is called an undertaker — because he is. 

Editors constitute a large class of the Dead-Heads of this 
country, although in the matter of public conveyances they have 
a host of companions in the shape of Governors, Congressmen, 
Mayors of cities, members of Legislatures, City Councilmen, 
and officers and directors of railroads. While I have to depre- 
cate the practice of Dead-Heading, I am obliged to confess that 
I myself have never yet felt so high-minded as to decline a pass 
on a railroad and pay my fare as a matter of preference. It is 
"the custom of the country," and while it is so I have a deli- 
cacy about setting myself up as an example of an unusual degree 
of conscience — particularly where such a course would be found 
expensive. Still, I would like to see Dead-Heading, as an 
"institution," abolished. It seems to me that there must be 
something that lacks a mere trifle of being precisely right in a 
system that gives something to certain privileged classes without 
an equivalent return ; and I think the dignity of journalism will 
be largely enhanced when the practice of Dead-Heading be- 
comes obsolete, so far, at least, as newspaper men are concerned. 
To that end, I am willing, for one, to do my share and to pay 
like other people for my enjoyment at places of amusement and 
for the conveniences of public conveyances, and on the other 
hand to be paid like other people for my work, so that the 
incubus of "free-puffing" may also be numbered with the 
things of the past. 

It is true that in the case of theaters there is a tacit under- 
standing that the critic receives his free passes in return for the 
criticisms he writes ; but it seems to me that even in this case 
the journalist had better pay the usual price of admission, in 
order that his mind will be left the more free to criticise the 
play with exclusive reference to its deserts. Besides, it is not 



— ■ 



142 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

only the critic himself that goes to see the play without paying. 
Free tickets or passes by the dozen are furnished to a newspaper 
establishment for the mere asking — often without even the 
asking; and the book-reviewer, the editorial-writer, the tele- 
graph-editor, the general news-editor and the city-editor all go 
and take their wives, and a friend or two each, without writing 
a line. It looks almost as if the manager of the theater were 
saying to the editors : " Come to my theater, and view my ex- 
pensive scenery and the acting of my well-paid performers, 
without money and without price ; but in return, be kind 
enough to lie a little for me, occasionally, and tell the public 
that the entertainment is admirable when you know it is execra- 
ble." I say it has this look, although any editor would repel 
with indignation and scorn any such direct proposition. 

In the matter of public conveyances, I think there is still less 
excuse for Dead-Heading, and the practice has a still worse 
aspect than in the case of the theater. Railroads, let us note, 
are usually conducted by powerful corporations ; they are in- 
trusted with the lives of millions of people every day, and when 
in their management there is the slightest departure from rigid 
care and surveillance, the newspaper editor ought to feel per- 
fectly free to call public attention to it and demand that the 
dangerous evil be corrected. Then imagine an editor who has 
just received his annual pass from the superintendent of a rail- 
road on which he frequently travels, sitting down and writing 
the following paragraph touching that railroad and that super- 
intendent : 



The accident which occurred on the New York and Liverpool Railroad 
last week is shown, by the results of the coroner's investigations, to have 
been the fruits of an imperfect system of signals introduced by the present 

superintendent, Mr. (naming the gentleman who has kindly sent the 

pass). Mr. is probably a very excellent gentleman in social life, but 

it seems to us that he is out of his place in the responsible position of 



DEAD-HEADING, 1 43 

superintendent of this extensive steam thoroughfare. It is clear, according 
to the evidence, that his defective system of signals is wholly responsible 
for the catastrophe whicft was so fruitful in suffering and death; and we 
warn the directors of the New York and Liverpool Railroad that they 
cannot afford so to trifle with the lives of passengers as to retain in so 
important a position as that of superintendent one who is clearly deficient 
in the good judgment requisite to enable him to perform its duties with 
perfect safety to the traveling public. 

Under the supposed circumstances, are there many editors 
living who could write the supposed paragraph of censure? 
If not, then does it not look as if, under this system of Dead- 
Heading, the superintendent and directors were saying to the 
editor, with the inspiration of the theater manager: "Ride 
free on our road; take any train you please, as often as you 
please ; go as far as you please ; get off where you please ; come 
back when you please ; and pay nothing ; but — if you see any 
defect in our road, a public mention of which might injure our 
business, however much the public ought to know it, keep 
mum ? ' ' 

I know that there are many well-meaning and conscientious 
journalists who will differ with me on this point, possibly 
expressing opposite views in vigorous language ; but I think I 
speak without any mental reservation whatever when I say that, 
in urging the abolition of the practice of Dead-Heading, I am 
prompted only by the most sincere and unselfish wishes for the 
further elevation of journalism. 

I have known Dead-Heading to be carried on, in exceptional 
instances, to a degree little less than disgraceful ; have seen it 
take such ramifications as to involve whole families, the heads 
of such families being editors of newspapers. One of the 
meanest Dead-Heads I ever knew, and the only thoroughly 
mean man I ever met among practical journalists, not content 
with riding free year after year over a certain railroad, passing 
members of his family over it free, time after time, and occa- 



144 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

sionally a mere friend, who was no relative at all, on conclud- 
ing once to change his residence, moved his household goods 
over the whole length of the railroad, — a hundred and twenty 
miles, — and when the freight-bills came to hand, this person 
had the "cheek" to take them to the superintendent and ask 
him to cancel them ! This the too-obliging official did ; and 
thus not only did the Dead-Head, his family and a small circle 
of friends travel over the road at the expense of the corpora- 
tion that owned it, but his chairs, tables, bedsteads and old 
stoves and crockery also enjoyed the stately privilege of " going 
dead-head ' ' — and all because they were the property of a per- 
son who was the editor of a weekly paper ! In justice to the 
profession — and I certainly should be the last to do it injus- 
tice — I must say that I never knew of more than this one in- 
stance of that peculiar kind of Dead-Heading, and that, I am 
sure, it would be universally denounced, by journalists who 
deserve the name, as " little and mean." It does seem to me 
that the amount of assurance displayed on that occasion is only 
rivaled in history by that of the unfortunate murderer, who, 
having killed his own father and mother, asked the court to 
deal mercifully with him, on the ground that he was an 
orphan ! 

When I was in San Francisco, I one day met a casual 
acquaintance who was "running" a weekly paper. He was 
an enterprising and thrifty young man and a writer of some 
ability ; but he was, as he no doubt believed he had a right to 
be, an inveterate Dead-Head. He had a valise in his hand, 
and I asked him if he had " been traveling " ? 

" I have been up at Grass Valley a week," he said, — Grass 
Valley being a considerable mining town far up in the moun- 
tains. 

" Who attended to your paper? " 



DEAD-HEADING. 1 45 

" Oh, I put it in such a shape before leaving that it would 
nearly run itself, and left Charlie Stuart in charge." 
" How did you find things at Grass Valley? " 
" Pretty good. Most of the mines are doing a fair business. 
I wrote up one or two for our next issue. I of course got some 
advertisements by promising to do so. I also got over a hun- 
dred subscribers to my paper, at four dollars each. ' ' 
" Very fair week's work. Expenses heavy? " 
"Not mine. I traveled free on the California Pacific, and 

at Sacramento I called on Mr. C and got a pass over the 

Central Pacific to Reno and back. Then I traveled free from 
Reno to Grass Valley (twelve miles) and back on the stage. 
(Mighty good stage-line ; must give it a puff. ) And — would 
you believe it ? — when I got ready to leave and offered to 
settle my hotel bill, the proprietor said : ' Never mind. That 's 
all right. We don't charge editors anything here. Always 
glad to see them come and take a look at our place and the 
mines.' Pretty square fellow, that; but he'll lose nothing by 
it. He shall have a puff. So, the whole trip cost me only 
sixty-five cents, and that was for ' incidentals. ' ' ' 

That is what I call a piece of pure and successful Dead-Head- 
ing. Between four and five hundred miles of traveling over 
two different railroads and a stage-line, and a week's board at 
a first-class hotel, with an expenditure of sixty-five cents ! 
13 K 



I46 SECEETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE BOHEMIAN. 

THE people of Bohemia are proverbially of a roving dispo- 
sition, probably because adverse wars have sent nearly 
whole nations of them into exile, and on that account the term 
"Bohemian " is applied to a class of writers for the press who, 
lacking fixedness of purpose, and generally lacking the means 
or faculties necessary for carrying out any very great purpose, 
wander from Sanctum to Sanctum, from city to city, picking up 
odd jobs of reporting, compiling, proof-reading, sketch-writing 
or verse-writing. The majority of them are only in a normal 
condition when they are " dead -broke, " under which circum- 
stances they are disposed to regard the world with the eye of 
cynicism ; but they become happy and contented on receiving 
from three to five dollars for a bit of work occupying a day or 
two, with which amount they immediately proceed to pay room- 
rent and buy some victuals " and things." 

The actual " Bohemian " is a queer character, often, but not 
always, without very great journalistic ability, sometimes well 
educated and not infrequently possessing a genius for writing 
poetry. I once employed a Bohemian occasionally, when there 
was some extra reporting to be done, who was a finished scholar, 
and could speak and write Latin, Greek, Spanish, French and 
German, as well as the finest English ; yet this singular man was 
always glad to get a stray job of reporting a railroad meeting 
or a cattle-show, and considered himself in a position of com- 
parative opulence when he received two or three dollars for the 
task. How he lived I never exactly knew, but think I was com- 
petent to make a pretty fair guess. Certainly he could not have 



THE BOHEMIAN. 147 

enjoyed many of the good things of this world, as he probably, 
from one paper and another, seldom received an aggregate of 
over five or six dollars a week. I occasionally gave him half 
an hour's proof-reading to do, when I could as well have done 
it myself, the paper being a weekly, that I might have a pretext 
for handing him half a dollar or so when I felt pretty sure he 
sorely needed it, and he was generally delighted to receive that 
amount for his work. The poor fellow was proud, and I would 
not have thought of offering him a sum of money as a gift. He 
never suspected my motive in giving him little jobs of that kind, 
as I usually contrived on such occasions to seem fairly " driven 
to death " by a press of business. If he had, I believe he would 
have declined the work, even if hungry ; but as it was, he always 
went away cheerful and contented, with the full sense that he 
had earned his money by " helping me out " at a busy time. 

There are many men classed among the "Bohemians" who 
are not by any means to be despised — many who possess bril- 
liant minds ; some are poets, of grand and pathetic conception ; 
some could write a history with Macaulay ; but untoward cir- 
cumstances, sometimes domestic troubles and disappointments, 
have disgusted them with life itself, and set them adrift in the 
newspaper world, without an aim, without a guide, with little to 
live for, blasted hopes to look back upon, an empty future to 
look forward to, and in the midst of the days of which they can 
say, "We have no pleasure in them." They are all poor — 
they live poorly — many of them have narrow and gloomy 
apartments in the upper stories of tall buildings, where, with 
the meanest surroundings, they live and write, often in hunger, 
and from which they daily issue in the threadbare clothes which 
they have carefully brushed to make them look as decent as 
possible. 

N. G. Shepherd, a New York writer for the press, died in that 



I48 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

city a few years ago, and I remember that some of the news- 
papers in mentioning his decease spoke of him as a " Bohe- 
mian," stating that irregular habits were the immediate cause 
of his death. He died but a day or two after writing his last 
poem, which was based on the fact that a few days before, "at 
the Morgue in New York, the attire of a drowned woman alone 
remained for identification." Poor Shepherd sold the poem to 
Apple ton' 's Journal, in which it was promptly published, after- 
ward going the rounds of the press. I here reproduce it, with 
the remark that, "Bohemian" or not, "irregular habits" or 
not, it was no little mind that conceived these touching lines : 

ONLY THE CLOTHES THAT SHE WORE. 

There is the hat 
With the blue vail thrown round it, just as they found it, 
Spotted and soiled, stained and all spoiled — 

Do you recognize that? 

The gloves, too, lie there, 
And in them still lingers the shape of her fingers, 
That some one has pressed, perhaps, and caressed, 

So slender and fair. 

There are the shoes, 
With their long silken laces still bearing traces 
To the toe's dainty tip of the mud of the slip, 

The slime and the ooze. 

There is the dress, 
Like the blue vail, all dabbled, discolored and drabbled — 
This you should know, without doubt, and, if so, 

All else you may guess ! 

There is the shawl, 
With the striped border, hung next in order, 
Soiled hardly less than the light muslin dress, 

And — that is all. 



THE BOHEMIAN. 149 

Ah, here 's a ring 
We were forgetting, with a pearl setting ; 
There was only this one — name or date ? — none ! 

A frail, pretty thing; 

A keepsake, maybe, 
The gift of another, perhaps a brother 
Or lover, who knows ? him her heart chose, 

Or, was she heart-free? 

Does the hat there, 
With the blue vail around it, just as they found it, 
Summon up a fair face with just a trace 

Of gold in her hair? 

Or does the shawl, 
Mutely appealing to some hidden feeling, 
A form, young and slight, to your mind's sight 

Clearly recall ? 

A month now has passed, 
And the sad history remains yet a mystery, 
But these we keep still, and shall keep them until 

Hope dies at last. 

Was she the prey 
Of some deep sorrow clouding the morrow, 
Hiding from view the sky's happy blue ? 

Or was there foul play ? 

Alas ! who may tell ? 
Some one or other, perhaps a fond mother, 
May recognize these, when her child's clothes she sees ; 

Then — will it be well? 

Mr. George Manson, an experienced reporter, contributed a 
series of sketches on " Bohemianism " to a New York publica- 
tion a few years ago, and as they are very true to the life, the 
reader need not feel sorry if I here quote from them : 
13* 



150 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

There have probably been more Bohemians in literature than in real life. 
Henri Murger, a famous French author, was the first to immortalize the 
Bohemians by writing about them. He wrote an interesting novel, entitled, 
" Scenes de la Vie de Boh&me," in which he created the wanderers, as it 
were, into a nation. His work was eagerly read, especially by those young 
persons who believed that they possessed a Bohemian nature, or, if they did 
not, desired to. The original of the word " Bohemian " is found in Sir 
Walter Scott's " Quentin Durward." In that book there is mention made 
of a certain gipsy, who is termed "the Bohemian." But the literary Bohe- 
mian has little in common with the Bohemian of gipsy life. Like the latter, 
he is unconventional, ignores some of the laws of religion (sometimes 
morality), and has no prejudices ; but there the resemblance ends. 

Thackeray has given us one or two pictures of " Bohemians " in the 
characters of " Fred. Bayham " and " Col. Altamont," the latter a fair speci- 
men of the more disreputable class. Thackeray himself, while in Rome, 
lived in the realms of Bohemia, and haunted the Greco and Lepri. 

Dickens, above all other writers, knew Bohemia well. He has given us 
many characters who possessed the true Bohemian sentiment, mingled with 
a good deal of evil and dishonesty not necessarily belonging to Bohemian- 
ism. Every one remembers, for instance, the character of " Harold Skim- 
pole" in "Bleak House." His philosophy was essentially Bohemian. 
Skimpole's friends obtained situations for him, but somehow or other he 
never succeeded, because he " had no idea of time or money." In conse- 
quence of this slight defect of character, he never kept an appointment, 
never knew the value of anything, and of course could not be expected to 
transact business properly and with profit. " So," says Dickens, "he had 
got on in life, and here he was ! He was very fond of reading the papers, 
very fond of making fancy sketches with a pencil, very fond of nature, very 
fond of art. All he asked of society was to let him live. That was n't 
much. His wants were few. Give him the papers, conversation, music, 
mutton and coffee, landscape, fruit in season, a few sheets of Bristol-board, 
and a little claret — and he asked no more. He was a mere child in the 
world. ' Go your several ways in peace. Wear your red coats, blue coats, 
lawn sleeves, put pens behind your ears, wear aprons, go after glory, holi- 
ness, commerce, trade, any object you prefer; only let Harold Skimpole live.' " 
Skimpole was lazy. He had the greatest sympathy with the work 
of the world, although not industrious himself. " I can dream of them," 



THE BOHEMIAN. 15 1 

says he, speaking of the negro slaves; " I can lie down on the grass in fine 
weather, and float along an African river, embracing all the natives 1 meet, 
as sensible of the deep silence, and sketching the dense overhanging tropi- 
cal growth as accurately as if I were there. I don't know that it is any 
direct use — my doing so — but it is all I can do, and I do it thoroughly." 
Another of his peculiarities was that he did not feel any vulgar gratitude 
toward any one. He almost felt as if they ought to be grateful to him for 
giving them the opportunity of enjoying the luxury of generosity. He was 
very remiss in the matter of paying his bills, and yet his philosophy on the 
subject of debt, though probably not shared by his creditors, is, to say the 
least, very entertaining. He owed his physician. " If he had those bits of 
metal or thin paper to which mankind attach so much value, to put them in 
the doctor's hand, he would put them in the doctor's hand ; but not having 
them, he substituted the will for the deed. If he really meant it, if his will 
was genuine and real, which it was, it appeared to him the same as coin, 
and canceled the obligation." 

"When he owed his rent, he thought there was something grotesque in his 
landlord's seizing his furniture (which, by the way, he had not paid for) ; 
"thus making," said he, "my chair and table merchant pay my landlord 
my rent. Why," argued he, " should my landlord quarrel with him? 
If I have a pimple on my nose that is disagreeable to my landlord's peculiar 
ideas of beauty, my landlord has no business to scratch my chair and table 
merchant's nose, which has no pimple on it. His reasoning seems defec- 
tive." A butcher, to whom he owed a considerable amount, remonstrated 
with him for eating his meat. Says he, " Sir, why did you eat spring lamb 
at eighteen pence per pound ? " " « Why did I eat spring lamb at eighteen 
pence per pound, my honest friend?' said I, naturally amazed by the ques- 
tion; 'I like spring lamb.' This was so far convincing. ' Well, sir,' said 
he, ' I wish I had meant the lamb as you meant the money.' ' My good 
fellow,' said I, ' pray, let us reason like intellectual beings. How could that 
be ? It was impossible. You had the lamb, and I have not the money. 
You could not really mean the lamb, without sending it in, whereas I can 
and really do mean the money without paying it.' " 

Alfred Jingle was another pretty good specimen of the Bohemian ; but 
the very best specimen we have in the works of Dickens is the famous 
" Wilkins Micawber." He, like many of the lower class of Bohemians of 
all large cities, was very generally in debt. The only visitors, in fact, that 



152 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

were ever seen at his house were creditors, who came at all hours of the 
day and night, some of whom were quite ferocious. Sometimes he would 
become low-spirited in consequence of these obligations. He called himself, 
on divers occasions, "a foundered bark," "a fallen tower," "a beggared 
outcast," " a shattered fragment in the Temple of Fame," "a straw on the 
surface of the deep," and accused the " serpents " of having "poisoned his 
life-blood." But he soon recovered from these fits of despondence. In the 
morning he has been known to make motions at his throat with a razor, and 
an hour later to polish his boots and go down the street humming a tune. 
On one sad occasion he said, " the God of day had gone down upon him," 
but before noon of the same day he played a lively game of " skittles." His 
rule for obtaining happiness was very sensible, and many in our day would 
be much happier if they were strictly guided by it. " He observed that if a 
man had twenty pounds a year as his income, and spent nineteen pounds, 
nineteen shillings and sixpence, he would be happy ; but if he spent twenty 
pounds, one shilling, he would be miserable." After waiting some time " for 
something to turn up," he said it was necessary for him to make a leap — a 
spring — but it only ended in his " throwing down the gauntlet" to society, 
saying: " Here I am. I can do such and such things, and I want to earn 
so much. Now, take me, or I will not be responsible." 

Micawber's manner of paying his debts was a very striking and original 
one. He borrowed a shilling of David Copperfield and gave him an order 
on Mrs. Micawber for the amount, and she, it is needless to say, had no money 
to reimburse him. Poor innocent Traddles, who had lent Micawber over 
forty pounds, felt happy when Mr. Micawber, just before leaving London, 
began to say to him, in the presence of others : " To leave this metropolis 
and my friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles, without acquitting myself of the pecu- 
niary part of the obligation I owe him, would weigh upon my mind to an 
insupportable extent. I have therefore prepared for my friend, Mr. Thomas 
Traddles, and I now hold in my hand, a document which accomplishes the 
desired object. I beg to hand to my friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles, my I O 
U for forty-one, ten, eleven-and-a-half, and I am happy to recover my moral 
dignity, and to know that I can once more walk erect before my fellow-men." 

In London there is a large class of Bohemians called "penny-a-liners." 
They go about in quest of accidents, misfortunes and various items of news. 
They go to the Bow Street office, the various courts of justice, and they are 
paid a penny a printed line (whence the name) for the matter they write 



THE BOHEMIAN. 1 53 

They often sell the same paragraph to several papers, and in that way make 
a decent living. Sometimes the City Editor " cuts down " their articles, 
thus depriving them of " tuppence," or " thrippence," at a clip, which, it is 
needless to say, is missed. But these writers belong to the lower walks of 
literature. The London Bohemia, Thackeray says, " is a pleasant land, a 
land where men call each other by their Christian names, where most are 
poor, and where, if a few oldsters do enter, it is because they have pre- 
served more tenderly than other folks their youthful spirits and the delight- 
ful capacity of being idle." 

The American Bohemian is not, strictly speaking, a Bohemian. He does 
not so readily mount to the philosophical height of the "poor devil author," 
and abandon all ambition to get on in life. It happens often that the Bohe- 
mian reporter has an eye to an editorship ; the Bohemian writer of stories 
for the weekly paper has thoughts of a contribution to the North American 
Review ; that the North American Reviewer, in turn, is thinking of writing 
a book; and the American book-writer will not be satisfied until he has 
written something which shall make his name truly immortal, and at the 
same time " fill his pockets." Still, there are persons in the " literary " line, 
in New York, for example, who may well be styled Bohemians. But they 
are not to be pitied as we have reason to pity the French Bohemian. The 
newspaper writer in this country is paid a fair price for his work, and has 
been known, besides living comfortably, to save money out of his income. 

After all, the question recurs, What is a Bohemian ? What is Bohemian- 
ism ? Is there any bright side to it ? can one be a Bohemian without drink- 
ing too much intoxicating drink ; or forever smoking a clay pipe ; or idling 
away precious time ; or dressing in the oldest of clothes, and out of taste at 
that; or disbelieving in the grandness of anything, or, in fact, possessing 
the many and varied attributes which characterize the persons whom 
some papers call Bohemians ? It seems to us that the proper answer is in 
the affirmative. If the Bohemian in olden times, when the name first came 
to be used, was nothing more than a lover of art, and a worker at it, should 
it not mean the same to-day ? And those who, possessing unfortunate and 
never-to be-denied traits of character, may call themselves, and succeed in 
being called, Bohemians, may we not say of them, as truly " good society " 
says to would-be apostles and " shoddyites " — " Calling yourselves after us 
does not make you one of us; you cannot have entrance to the Inner 
Temple." 



154 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

We would say in conclusion that the true Bohemian is unconventional 
where he thinks it is wise to be so ; is liberal, thus being true to the spirit 
of the age ; and lives by the way, and not for the future, carrying out in life 
what George Arnold, the Bohemian poet, has so sweetly said in poetry : 

Oh, I was made for the present time ! 
I sing my song or weave my rhyme, 
From fear of future troubles free — 
For they are naught to me ! 

I will not mourn for the silent past, 

Though pleasures fine it brought to me ; 

The present moments cannot last 
But if they leave no vacancy, 
The past is naught to me. 

And thus I find in the present time, 

That life is fresh and sweet to me; 
I still will sit and w eave my rhyme ; 

The future soon will present be, 

And bring new joys to me. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE PRINTERS. 



THE "Printer," as he is called by the outside world, is 
styled a " Compositor ' ' in all printing-offices. He is the 
man who takes from the "case" the pieces of metal (called 
"types") with an "h," an "a" and a "t" molded on one 
end of each, respectively, and places them together in the 
proper order when the word " hat" is to be spelled. It does 
not take him long to do it, either. Then he follows this word 



THE PRINTERS. 155 

by a space — a piece of metal like a type would be if shortened 
by having the letter cut squarely off the end — then another 
word follows, another space, and so on till a line is formed, and 
so on till another is formed on top of that, and so on till his 
"stick" (the little iron frame in which the types are set) is 
full and ready to be emptied on the " imposing-stone," or on 
a "galley," as the case may be. 

There are perhaps few reading persons who have not some 
general idea of the manner in which types are put together, and 
of the simple process of stamping the inked letters, by whole 
columns or whole pages, upon the white paper, by means of the 
printing-press. But the general public has little knowledge of 
the daily and nightly scenes in the composing-room of a great 
daily newspaper, or of the hundreds of details of the printer's 
work. To give a vivid idea of the interior of the composing- 
room, I cannot do better, as the scenes are the same in all large 
offices, than to reproduce a picture of the composing-room of 
the New York Tribune, and to this end must again make a draft 
on one of Mr. Cummings's sketches before alluded to as having 
been published a few years ago in Packard's Monthly : 

Come into the composition-room at five minutes of seven in the evening. 
The desk near the door is littered with copy. Fifty printers are lounging 
about the office in their shirt-sleeves and aprons, smoking, distributing type, 
correcting proofs, swearing over the poor quality of the gas, and asking 
what number jumped out first in the evening drawing of the Kentucky or 
Delaware lottery. One man is employed solely in cutting the copy into 
sections or "takes," and mai-king directions for the type in which the cap- 
tions and sub-captions of articles are to appear. Every strip of copy is 
dotted with guide-posts and sign-boards, so that the compositor cannot go 
astray. Here are twenty men carrying off twenty pieces or " takes " of one 
article. We will suppose it to be an editorial of Mr. Greeley's. The copy- 
cutter slashes it into twenty pieces of about twenty lines each. The first 
piece he marks with a blue crayon " I G," the second piece " 2 G," the 



156 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

third " 3 G," and so on up to " 20 G." The compositors take these pieces 
from the hook as fast as they are out of copy, and as soon as each piece is 
put in type the matter is placed on a brass galley (similar to a. board with a 
light strip of wood on each side), and a small square piece of white paper, 
marked " 6 G," or whatever number designates the piece just finished by 
the compositor, is deposited at its side. You may find "2" and "3 G" 
hugging each other on the galley, followed by " 5," " 6 " and " 7 G," with 
a space left for "4 G" when finished. By the arrangement described, a 
dozen or twenty articles may be in process of composition at the same time. 
One manuscript will be numbered " I XX," and so on. The commercial 
review generally goes out marked " Com.," the markets "Ma.," the Wash- 
ington special " Wa.," Young's editorial "I Y," etc., and Hassard's spicy 
criticisms "Has.," etc. 

The Tribune compositors, with the exception of a half dozen men who 
work exclusively by daylight, reach the office about one P. M. Three or four 
hours are then consumed in distributing the type for the night's work. From 
five to six they drop off to supper, returning about ten minutes of seven. 
As the hour of seven approaches they swarm around the copy -hooks like 
bees about a sugar-cask. At five minutes of seven the Chairman of the 
office shouts : 

'• Well, it 's time — sail in. Who 's first out?" 

This "first out" is an important matter. It takes in the " fattest" slice 
of copy in the office, and this frequently turns out a five- or an eight-dollar 
job in one, two, or three hours. The " first out " goes from one number to 
another on each succeeding night. 

" Eighteen 's first out! Number Eighteen, come up to the bull-ring ! " 
shouts the Chairman. 

Eighteen delicately slips his "take " from the hook and drifts to his case, 
amid the ironical oh's and ah's of his companions, who kindly offer him 
fabulous sums of money for his luck. 

" Number Nineteen \ " cries the Chairman. Nineteen " snakes " his take 
from the hook. 

" Number Twenty ! " and Twenty follows suit, and thus they go until 
every man is supplied with copy. The men lay their copy on their cases, 
and stand, stick in hand, but not a type is picked up until at precisely 
seven o'clock, when the Chairman cries : 

" Time ! S-1-i-n-g 'em ! " 



THE PRINTERS. 1 57 

The type rattle in fifty-five sticks at once, and for ten minutes hardly 
anything is heard but the steady "click, click" of the metal letters within 
the steel sticks. 

The proof-room bell rings, and the bell-boy runs up the tin box, and 
draws therefrom a proof-sheet. 

"Proof for Number — ! " yells the boy. 

Some droll typo remarks : " Oh, no, that can't be — must be some mis- 
take somewhere! " 

As No. — happens to be a notoriously incorrect compositor, a general 
laugh follows. No. — retorts with an intimation that the droll typo is suf- 
fering from an attack of the jim-jams, and a steady stream of jokes and 
sarcastic allusions follow, until some witty genius says, in a grave voice : 

"Now we '11 have the opening chorus!" accompanying it with a song, 
usually chanted by a brother typo when on a spree, and another round of 
laughter follows. 

" Who 's got 9 G ! " shouts a wiry little fellow, adding, sotto voce, " Hang 
the copy ! I believe three weeks at a writing-school would n't hurt Greeley !" 

" Hang your copy on the hook if you can't read it ! " shouts an unsym- 
pathizing companion. 

"Oh, he can read it well enough!" chimes in another. " There 's a fat 
* take ' on the agate hook, and he 's a layin' for it — that 's what 's the matter !" 

Here Captain Holmes, a veteran one-legged typo, opens the door, ten 
minutes late, as usual, and sails for his case like a weather-beaten frigate. 
The rattle and clatter of fifty-five sticks beating a tattoo on the cases salute 
him. The captain growls like a boatswain on a man-of-war, then tosses one 
crutch under his cases, takes off his coat, and propped on his remaining 
crutch, rolls up his shirt-sleeves with the majesty of an Ajax en deshabille". 
He shakes up the few type remaining in his case, gets his copy, and imme- 
diately wants to know if " any gentleman has any lower case agate p's to 
give out? " 

" Come here, captain," shouts a comrade, and the captain stumps off, 
and returns with a fist full of letters, which he dumps in his p box. Then 
the captain begins composition. In ten minutes a row breaks out. The 
captain discovers a nest of b's in his p box, and shouts out : 

" Ah, Number Twenty, what did you give me when I went to your case ?" 

"Gave you what you asked for, of course — lower case agate b's." 

" Yu-bee dam ! I asked for p's-for-putty, and you gave me b's-for-butter !" 
14 



158 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

1 e captain is known as an inveterate borrower, a roar of laughter breaks 
from the whole room, and the captain subsides into a low, lion-like growl. 

Here a comrade enters the room, and says that he knows nothing about 
the row, but he will bet five dollars that the captain is right, for he never 
knew him to be wrong in his life. Derisive cheers follow, and the cap- 
tain's indignation again flames forth, and gradually subsides into the stereo- 
typed growl. 

A long silence, dotted with the " click, click " of the type, follows. At 
ten o'clock Clement comes up-stairs, and designates the articles to go in on 
the first side of the paper. Sam Walter, the old and trusty night foreman, 
whose Chesterfieldian qualities have endeared him to every printer who has 
stuck a type in the Tribune office for the last eighteen years, dumps the 
type in the form, amid much tribulation over the work of some "infernal 
blacksmith," who has corrected nonpareil type with minion, and the pages 
slide off to the stereotyper's room. 

At midnight the copy gives out. Clement is sent for and asked for copy. 
He has none. 

" Shall I let off a couple of phalanxes ? " inquires Kimball. 

" No, sir," is the reply ; "■ I expect a four-column telegraphic report of 
Stanton's speech at Cleveland." 

" Bogus is m order. Put your names down on the slate as fast as you're 
out of copy," cries Kimball, and down go a dozen names. When copy 
gives out the compositors are put to work on matter never used in the 
paper. This is termed "bogus matter." The office allows the men this 
privilege, because it would be unjust to require them to hang around the 
office waiting for copy, in the dead hours of night, without appropriate 
remuneration. By two A. m. Stanton's speech is all in. The men are divided 
into seven phalanxes, which are let off, phalanx after phalanx, as their 
services are no longer needed. 

"Have you got 'good-night' from Washington yet, Clem?" asks 
Kimball. 

"Yes ; Jim Young* shut up an hour ago, but the Associated Press is 
telegraphing its usual mess of stuff about the Land Office and the Statistical 
Bureau. Let off four phalanxes ! " 

Kimball shouts, " First, third, fifth, and seventh phalanxes close up and 
slope ! " 

* The Washington correspondent. 



THE PRINTERS. 1 59 

The wearied typos drop their sticks, and totter down the iron stairs. At 
2.30 A. m. Dr. Wood comes up from the editorial room, and tosses a blue 
tissue sheet of paper on the table, with the words " Good Night" thereon. 

"No more copy! Here's a proof for the Correcting Phalanx!" comes 
from Sam Walter, and the work of the typo is done. 

The type is pitched into the pages, which must be in the stereotype 
room by three A. M., for the paper to catch the mails, and after a hard half- 
hour's sweating, fretting, swearing and tearing, the newspaper ship is 
launched for the day, and by four A. M. a dull rumbling in the lower regions 
announces that the presses are masticating paper, thoughts and ideas that 
will be scattered throughout the Union before the morning hour again rolls 
around. 

The Tribune compositors earn from $20 to $35 per week. During the 
war bills frequently ran up to $50 and even $70 per week. The printers 
who formerly stuck type at the side of Horace Greeley have died out of the 
office. Horace, himself, though a practical printer, rarely visits the com- 
posing-room. The last time the writer saw him at work in the composition- 
room was at three o'clock in the morning following President Lincoln's 
election, when he ran his eye over the type of the New York election table 
on the editorial page, and suddenly cried out : 

" Here, Sam, bring me a bodkin ; some infernal fool has spelled Pittsburg 
with an'h.! '" 

And though the pressmen were impatiently clanging the bells for the 
forms, Horace deliberately drew a jack-knife from his pocket and dug the 
h's out before he would allow the form to go down. 

Mr. Parton visited the Tribune office one morning before 
daylight. He gives a graphic description of it as it then was : 

We are in the Tribune 's press-room.. It is a large, low, cellar-like apart- 
ment, unceiled, white-washed, inky and unclean, with a vast folding-table 
in the middle, tall heaps of dampened paper all about, a quietly-running 
steam-engine of nine-horse power on one side, twenty-five inky men and 
boys variously employed, and the whole brilliantly lighted up by jets of gas, 
numerous and flaring. On one side is a kind of desk or pulpit, with a table 
before it, and the whole separated from the rrst of the apartment by a rail. 
In the pulpit, the night clerk stands, counts and serves out the papers, with 



l6o SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

a nonchalant and graceful rapidity, that must be seen to be appreciated. 
The regular carriers were all served an hour ago ; they have folded their 
papers and gone their several ways ; and early risers, two miles off, have 
already read the news of the day. The later newsboys, now, keep drop- 
ping in, singly, or in squads of three or four, each with his money ready in 
his hand. Usually, no word passes between them and the clerk ; he either 
knows how many papers they have come for, or they show him by exhibit- 
ing their money; and in three seconds after his eye lights upon a newly- 
arrived dirty face, he has counted the requisite number of papers, counted 
the money for them, and thrown the papers in a heap into the boy's arms, 
who slings them over his shoulder and hurries off for his supply of the 
Times and Herald. 

In his "Life and Times of Horace Greeley," Mr. Ingersoll 
remarks : 

Instead of the vast folding-table seen twenty years ago by Mr. Parton, 
we should now find a number of folding-machines, "fed" by boys, very 
much as the press is "fed" by men. Into one of these machines a Tribune 
enters in one large sheet, and out it presently drops, folded ready for the 
earner or for mailing. The immense editions of the Tribune are thus 
folded in an incredibly short time. Observing the wonderfully rapid, the 
almost miraculously delicate, exact movements of press and folding-machines, 
one can hardly help being impressed with the idea that they are living 
beings, possessed of minds. 

The same writer says again : 

A fact which will strike any one upon a visit to the Tribune office is what 
I will call its democratic management. Here is a copy of a notice in the 
composition-room : " Gentlemen desiring to wash and soak their dis- 
tributing matter will please use hereafter the metal galleys I had cast for the 
purpose, as it is ruinous to galleys having wooden sides to keep wet type in 
them locked up. Thos. M. Rook: 

Mr. Parton alludes to this in his "Life of Horace Greeley," 
and thinks it must have taken the world many thousands of 
years to arrive at that word, "gentlemen." 



THE PRINTERS. l6l 

There is no higher class of skilled laborers than printers. If 
compositors may be rated as mechanics — although their call- 
ing almost arises to the dignity of art, and is even styled the 
" art preservative of all arts " — they are, as a numerous class, 
beyond all question the most intelligent. From the nature of 
their calling, accustomed to familiar contact, although in a frag- 
mentary way, with the fresh thoughts of writers ; among the 
first to gain a knowledge of passing events ; they become more 
or less familiar with the great questions of the day, discuss them, 
and form opinions of their own, often no more circumscribed 
than those of the editorial writers themselves. Indeed, many 
of the most brilliant writers of this generation — journalists, 
novelists, historians, humorists and poets — have risen from the 
" case," have been practical printers. Franklin, Greeley, Ben- 
nett, Forney, Prentice, " Artemus Ward," and a host of others 
eminent in the world of letters, once stood at the case, coats 
off, arms bared to the elbows, with a stick in one blackened hand, 
while the other flew back and forth on its countless errands 
snatching up the "w's," the "h's," the capital " P's," the 
lower case " i's," and the quads and spaces. 

No class of persons have a finer sense of humor than the com- 
positors in a city printing-office, and the complete history of 
any single composing-room would have a good deal of the 
"spicy" in it. They have their leisure moments, when they 
give way to a spirit of fun and punning, sometimes of the most 
horrible kind, and the chaffing, and rallying, and bantering, 
take the most active shape — the sharp sally and keen retort 
being exchanged with great rapidity. The blundering of a 
green or awkward hand is a source of much merriment ; and 
when one of that kind happens to make such a ridiculous blun- 
der as to " divide " the word " healthy," or the word " horses," 
— both of which cases, and many others as ludicrous, I have 
14* L 



1 62 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

witnessed in the course of my experience, — he "never hears 
the last of it," unless he has the good sense to take it good- 
humoredly, in which case the rallying is soon dropped. 

Occasionally, the exuberant spirit takes the form of practi- 
cal joking, which is sometimes characterized by an amount of 
recklessness and " deviltry " scarcely to be commended — a 
recklessness not surpassed by that of such mischievous people 
as the students of large colleges. For example : 

It was a good many years ago that I was engaged in proof- 
reading in a job office in New York. The sole proprietor was 
a staid old gentleman, very strict, very systematic, very eco- 
nomical, very thrifty, very religious. He did not believe in 
sport of any kind, nor under any circumstances, and regarded 
it, of course, with detestation and loathing when it took the form 
of injury to or waste of property. The wanton destruction of 
one cent would have vexed him as much as the irrevocable 
loss of a human soul. 

One day I sat in the dingy fourth-story back room we used as 
an office, looking over some work with this stern, spectacled old 
man, when the door opened and a person came in. The per- 
son, in whose face I fancied I saw an ordinary twelve -mo vol- 
ume, was a well-dressed man, evidently a business man. 

"You're Mr. S ?" he said, in a voice that quivered 

slightly, as if from the exertion of ascending three flights of 
stairs with no time to waste. 

"Yes," replied Mr. S , laying a proof down and look- 
ing up inquiringly over his spectacles. 

" Well," returned the stranger, " I run a hoop-skirt factory, 
No. 13 C Street." 

"Yes?" rejoined Mr. S , who, like myself, evidently 

wondered what that could have to do with a job printing- 
office. 



THE PRJXTERS. 1 63 

But for the man's excited manner, I might have surmised 
that he wanted to get some cards or circulars printed. 

•• You — you do, eh ? " said Mr. S , for the reason that he 

did not know what else to say. 

" Yes, sir, I do," responded the visitor ; " and I employ six- 
teen girls. ' ' 

"Ah? Sixteen?" 

" Yes, and the rear of my establishment comes to this alley." 

He pointed toward the window, which looked out upon a 
narrow alley, with a great row of buildings opposite ; and I now 
thought I could begin to see a small ray of light in the direc- 
tion of printers' mischief. 

" O, right opposite? " said Mr. S , on whom the ray of 

light had not yet dawned. 

"Yes, right across the alley, These girls sit at work near 
the windows — the fifth-story windows — just across, and on a 
level with the windows where your printers are at work. ' ' 

" One story above this? " 

"Yes." 

He paused for breath. 

"How — how do they get along this hot weather?" asked 
Mr. S , still at a loss for any pertinent remark. 

Our excited visitor did not reply to this question, but de- 
liberately thrust his right hand in his trowsers-pocket, and 
" fumbled" as if feeling for a pistol. Thinking he might be a 
maniac, possibly a dangerous one, I watched his movements 
narrowly. But he did not draw a deadly weapon. When he 
once more drew forth his hand into the light of day, he held in 
the palm thereof about twenty-three pica lower-case w's, three 
or four two-em quads, a couple of two-em dashes, bright and 
new, jingled them under Mr. S 's nose, and said : 

" Is them worth anything, sir ? " 



164 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Mr. S stared at the man, not so much on account of this 

extraordinary piece of syntax as apparently to make out which 
he was — an agent for a type-foundry, or a person of unsound 
mind. Failing to fathom the mystery, he said : 

"I don't quite understand you. Have you type to sell? 
If so—" 

"No, sir," interrupted the stranger, again jingling the 
bright new types; "I have 'em to give away. But what are 
they worth, anyhow ? " 

"Well, when we buy type we pay about a cent apiece for 
such as that. We got a font of just that kind last week." 

"Worth a cent apiece, eh?" rejoined the visitor. "Well, 
all I have to say is, it won't take long to make you a bankrupt 
if your devilish printers keep on throwing them across at my 
girls, and keeping them from their work, as they have done the 
last two or three days." 

" What ! " exclaimed Mr. S . "Are they mine ? " 

His economical soul was in arms. 

" Yes," replied the manufacturer of hoop-skirts, as he emptied 
the types into Mr. S— 's hand, which the latter extended 
excitedly to receive them. "Those are merely what were 
thrown in at my girls this forenoon. I suppose ten times as 
many were swept out this morning, from yesterday's work. 
One this morning struck one of my girls on the jaw, and hurt 
her so much that she cried. Now, I have come to ask you if 
you can stop such doings. They waste your property in doing 
so, — for I understand that a good many of them types strikes 
the wall and falls down into the alley, — and at the same time 
they keep my girls from doing their work, — for they have to 
keep watching the printers all the time for fear of getting hit 
in the eye, — and I pay them by the week — " 

" Good heavens ! " exclaimed Mr. S , forgetting for the 



THE PRINTERS. 1 65 

moment that he was a pious man, and springing from his seat. 
" Come up-stairs with me, and we '11 see about such carryings- 
on ! — And they complaining of being scarce of sorts ! ' ' 

The two left the office, with rapid and excited strides, to go 
up-stairs, and I proceeded with my work, losing sight of the 
case for the time being ; but the scene that took' place in the 
composing-room was afterward described to me, by one of the 

"prints.," as one of more than ordinary richness. Mr. S 

used powerful language in -his denunciation of "such work; " 
made vigorous but fruitless inquiries as to which of the wicked 
compositors had done it, and threatened to dismiss the whole 
force unless he should find it out ; but was finally pacified by 
the Foreman, who told him he would do two things: (1) 
make every effort to discover who the guilty party was, and if 
successful at once discharge him; (2) exercise an amount of 
surveillance in the future that would effectually prevent a re- 
currence of the offense. He also stated to Mr. S that 

there were a number of jobs in hand that ought to be completed 
for customers as soon "as possible, and this largely influenced 
him to revoke his determination to dismiss the "whole force." 
The culprit was never detected (outside of the composing- 
room), but as the specific practical joke of throwing pica lower- 
case w's "and sich" at the hoop-skirt girls was deemed to be 
about exhausted, it was peremptorily discontinued. 

In the Printer's Art there is of course a system of nomen- 
clature not entirely familiar to the whole people; yet it seems 
to me that any one ought to be able to understand the plain 
English used in the following description of a scene I once 
witnessed in our composing-room, when I had stepped in to 
give some instructions concerning a dead ad., of a column in 
length, and to say that it need not be kept standing : 

As I entered the composing-room, two of the compositors, 



1 66 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

known as "little" Billie Crawford and John Reddy, were 
having a bit of a wrangle, merely in fun, I at first thought, 
when Billie remarked, with some sarcasm : 

"O, yes; you might get through with a good deal of real 
work in the course of the day, if you didn't spend half your 
time running around and trying to pick up fat. ' ' 

"Exactly," retorted Reddy; "but I don't set up in the 
regular business of stealing sorts, as every man in the office 
knows you do ! " 

" Say that again, and I '11 make dead matter of you ! " said 
Billie, angrily. 

" You ! " said Reddy, with a sneer. " Why, you 're as con- 
temptible as an agate hair-space ! " 

"And you," retorted Billie, "are as mean as a bottle-shaped 
comma ! ' ' 

"Pooh! You're as trifling as a diamond period!" said 
Reddy. 

"Boys," said I, wishing to pacify them, "I beg that you 
will not — " 

" It 's his own ill-temper," Billie interrupted; "and I de- 
spise him as I do a dirty proof in nonpareil or agate ! ' ' 

John Reddy was now in a thorough passion, and thinking 
that such language could not be justified so easily as a line of 
pica, wide measure, laid down his stick, containing three or four 
lines of leaded brevier that he had just set, walked around the 
stand that was between them, and gave Billie a hanging inden- 
tion on the margin of the ear. Billie was engaged in dis- 
tributing a dead sheriff's notice, and was so surprised at the 
attack that he unfortunately pied nearly a stickful of solid agate. 

At the stand next to Billie's, Charlie Meagher was setting up 
a leader in bourgeois, leaded, with full-face head, and he rushed 
to the spot, stick in hand, to separate the angry boys, dropping 



THE PRINTERS, 1 6/ 

his rule on the way. But Billie's blood was up, and he seized 
a handful of lower-case m's, and threw them at Reddy, one or 
two of them striking Meagher in the face. 

This enraged Charlie himself, as he was rather quick-tempered, 
and he seized a column-rule, to strike Billie with it ; but Reddy 
had got over his anger, and was magnanimous enough to inter- 
fere to prevent his being hurt by Charlie, and he did so by 
flourishing an old side-stick that he picked up from the floor, 
and telling Charlie to keep back. 

At this point, Charlie Brittain, a heavy-browed, spectacled, 
big- whiskered old "print.," and a fine workman, looked up 
from his work — he was engaged, by the way, in over-running 
a paragraph of nonpareil in which there was an out — and see- 
ing what the matter was, came over from his case at the opposite 
side of the room to pacify and correct his younger comrades. 
Unfortunately, at the time he approached, Billie seized about 
a line of long primer quads, and threw them at Charlie Meagher, 
and one of them struck Brittain fairly on the nose. The good- 
hearted old compositor was also very quick-tempered, and he 
sailed in, not caring much whom he should hurt, only deter- 
mined to hurt somebody ; and being near the imposing-stone 
at the time of being struck by the quad, he seized a foot-stick 
and began striking out at random among the three excited 
compositors. 

The scene was one of great confusion, and at this important 
crisis, John Craig, the Foreman, came in with some new rules. 
He was in a great hurry to lock up a form that lay on the im- 
posing-stone, and one which ought to go to press soon, and he 
rushed up and seized his mallet and shooting-stick before he 
noticed anything wrong. Even then, his attention was first 
attracted by a shock to the imposing-stone, caused by Billie 
Crawford and Charlie Meagher, who had got clinched and were 



1 68 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

engaged in a regular struggle, reeling against it. Billie stum- 
bled, and his elbow knocked down a planer, some leads and a 
number of quoins, reglets, and other furniture. 

Such lean matter John Craig thought it simply impossible to 
justify, and he registered an oath that if they did not at once 
bring out he would make even. There was some dead matter 
on a galley stowed away on a rack, and this also was pied by 
the two struggling printers, as they went staggering over to the 
wall. Craig became very angry at this, and seizing a bodkin 
he threatened to run in and make solid matter of them if they 
did not at once desist. But by this time both were so enraged, 
and so intent on indenting one another, that you could not 
have inserted a brilliant hair-space between them. They had 
now clinched, in a desperate struggle, and went rolling and 
tumbling over like turned g's ; and, rising again, went swaying 
across the room toward some unoccupied cases, just touching 
the corner of a stand where 01. Reynolds was throwing in letter, 
and knocking down a pile of six-to-pica leads that lay on his case. 

The uproar was now so great that the Assistant Foreman, Joe 
Hunter, who had just finished making-up, and was planing down 
a form, came running over, with mallet and planer in his hands, 
and in his excitement came in contact with a rack, knocked 
down a galley and pied seven sticks of live matter, mostly 
special notices in solid nonpareil. Several others who were 
throwing in letter — among them two compositors named John 
Boot and George Williams, and another named Nichols, who 
had just got a fat take from the hook — left their cases and 
rushed to the scene to assist in quelling the disturbance. 

The culmination of this unfortunate affair was, that in the 
general struggle and confusion participated in by the contest- 
ants and those who endeavored to separate them, an imposing- 
stone was knocked over, a chase broken, and a whole form pied. 
Billie, who was lying on the floor at the time, received a cut on 



THE PRINTERS. 1 69 

the cheek, which cut had fallen from the imposing-stone, and 
was intended for an "ad." marked " ni2deod3m." An unoc- 
cupied chase which was also lying upon the imposing-stone fell 
on the pi, and of course the result was much battered type ; 
and this, in accordance with the Foreman's instructions, was 
gathered up by the devil and thrown in the hell-box. 

It almost seems that this chapter on "The Printers " would 
be incomplete, if it did not embrace the following graceful 
verses, by Mr. Thomas MacKellar, which I find in his work 
entitled, "The American Printer." 

SONG OF THE PRINTER. 

Pick and click 

Goes the type in the stick, 
As the printer stands at his case ; 
His eyes glance quick, and his fingers pick 

The type at a rapid pace ; 
And one by one, as the letters go, 
Words are piled up steady and slow — 

Steady and slow, 

But still they grow, 
And words of fire they soon will glow ; 
Wonderful words that, without a sound, 
Traverse the earth to its utmost bound; 

Words that shall make 

The tyrant quake, 
And the fetters of the oppress'd shall break; 
Words that can crumble an army's might. 
Or treble its strength in a righteous fight ; 
Yet the type they look but leaden and dumb, 
As he puts them in place with finger and thumb ; 

But the printer smiles, 

And his work beguiles, 
By chanting a song as the letters he piles, 

With pick and click, 
Like the world's chronometer, tick ! tick ! tick ! 
15 



I70 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

O, where is the man with such simple tools 

Can govern the world as I ? 
With a printing-press, an iron stick, 

And a little leaden die, 
"With paper of white, and ink of black, 
I support the Right, and the Wrong attack. 

Say, where is he, or who may he be, 

That can rival the printer's power? 

To no monarchs that live the wall doth he give, — 
Their sway lasts only an hour; 

While the printer still grows, and God only knows 
When his might shall cease to tower. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

PROOF. 



IF you knew nothing whatever of surgery or anatomy, and 
a surgeon should tell you that one of his patients had 
sustained a comminuted fracture of the body of os humeri, 
you might surmise that it was something very dreadful, but 
would not be prepared to interpret his statement as meaning 
that the afflicted person had got the bone of an arm smashed, 
about half-way between the shoulder and elbow. Yet this is 
just what the surgeon's statement would mean. So, entirely 
unfamiliar with "the press," you wonder what a printer or 
editor means when he says "Proof." I suppose it is part of 
the mission of this volume to explain what "Proof" means; 
and, as an assurance of the entire truthfulness of this work, I 
may state that it has not been allowed to go to press until 
proof of every statement made in it has been obtained. 



PROOF. 171 

To make a specific illustration, when a newspaper column 
(or galley) of type has been set, it is just a trifle more than 
probable that the compositor, or the several compositors, who 
placed the ten thousand separate pieces of metal in a certain 
uniform order, made a few mistakes. They would not be 
imperfect beings if they did not, in some cases, do so. But, 
as we wish our paper to be as nearly correct as possible, typo- 
graphically as well as in other respects, this column of type is 
laid, with the letters facing the ceiling, upon a table and covered 
with printing-ink ; then a strip of white paper about twice as 
wide as the column is laid nicely over it, and a pressure applied 
sufficient to " print " the letters on the paper. 

This paper — which has been dampened in order that it 
might receive the ink more readily — is a " Proof," or " Proof- 
sheet," and it is handed to the Proof-reader (or to the Foreman 
or writer, or both, when there is no exclusive Proof-reader 
employed), and he reads it — writing in the margin, with pen 
or pencil, words, letters and characters to indicate what cor- 
rections are to be made. He sees an "a" where an "r" 
ought to be, and he draws a stroke vertically over the face of 
the former and writes the latter in the margin opposite, and 
makes a leaning stroke on the right of it. He sees the word 
"lunch" where the word "link" ought to be, and he crosses 
out the former and writes " link " in the margin. He finds an 
"i" where an " 1 " ought to be, and marks the mistake in like 
manner. He finds a turned letter — a letter that has been put 
in upside-down — and he makes a short straight mark under it, 
and draws attention by making in the margin a character simi- 
lar to the printed figure 9. He finds a word repeated, as " and 
the the arrest was made," (a mistake called a " doublet,") and 
he draws a line over the superfluous word, and in the margin 
makes a character nearly like a bow-knot. He finds a square 



172 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

black spot of ink between two words, where the paper ought to 
be left white, caused by a space sticking up even with the faces 
of the letters, and he draws a line under and over it, and 
makes a cross (x) in the margin. He finds an "out" — that 
is, he finds that a word or a number of words have been omit- 
ted, and he makes a caret (A) with its apex between the two 
words where the missing word or words belong, and writes 
them in the margin. His course is the same when it is a letter 
or comma or period that is omitted. He finds a letter or word 
preceding a letter or word which it ought to follow instead, 
and drawing a line over one, then down between them and 
under the other, he writes in the margin "/r.," which means 
"transpose." He finds a letter of a different size from the 
others, and marking this he writes "w. /." in the margin, 
which means "wrong font." These are but a few illustrations. 
There are probably from fifty to a hundred — I never stopped 
to count them — different kinds of typographic errors, to mark 
each of which the Proof-reader has a uniform and conventional 
character, and with these various characters he is fully as familiar 
as any one is with the letters A, B, C, or the figures i, 2, 3. 

Almost every one who reads newspapers occasionally sees 
typographic errors of the simplest kind, which have either 
escaped the eye of the Proof-reader, or, having been marked by 
him, been overlooked by the person doing the correcting. In 
the hurry of newspaper work, a few mistakes will creep in every 
day. When the newspaper reader sees the word "then" 
spelled with two "n's," he thinks, perhaps, that any one ought 
to be able to see typographic errors at a glance, and that Proof- 
reading cannot require any great care. But he is mistaken. It 
is one of the hardest jobs in newspaper work, and is as much a 
business as type-setting. Indeed, I believe that good Proof- 
readers are proportionally scarcer than good editors. 



TYPOGRAPHIC ERRORS. 1 73 

Authors and editors of books are often indebted to the 
Proof-reader for the correction of errors which they have over- 
looked. I care not how careful a writer is, or how much time 
he has spent in the preparation of his book, the Proof-reader 
is certain to discover some errors. Indeed, the author himself, 
when he sees the proofs of his book, often finds in them the 
grossest errors, which he has failed to discover in his manu- 
script. When one's language goes into print it seems to take 
on a new life, and to lose in some measure the personality it 
formerly enjoyed, when, as manuscript, it was nearer to its 
author, and when he was somewhat blind to its faults, as a man 
is often blind to the faults of his child. "When the Proof- 
reader discovers what he considers an incorrect word or expres- 
sion, he calls the author's attention to it by drawing a line 
under it in the proof, making a note of interrogation (?) in 
the margin, and writing what he thinks would be the proper 
word. Should the author differ with the Proof-reader, he erases 
the corrections, and the matter stands as set according to his 
manuscript ; but should he, as is often the case, perceive that 
the Proof-reader is right, he simply erases the note of interro- 
gation, and the correction is made at his expense or at the 
expense of the publishers. Correcting in the proofs what 
were faults of the manuscript is expensive, especially where 
whole paragraphs are stricken out or added, involving often the 
overrunning and rearranging of many pages. Authors ought 
to understand this fully ; but many do not, and are sometimes 
shocked at the expense occasioned by correcting in the proof 
errors that are too often the result of careless preparation of copy. 

To give a clear idea of proof-reading, I here reproduce from 
Mr. MacKellar's "American Printer" two pages showing what 
a proof-sheet looks like after the reader has marked the errors on 
it, and how it appears after the corrections have been made : 
15* 



AN EXAMPLE OF PROOF-SHEET, 

SHOWING THE MANITEB IN WHICH EBBOBS OF THE PBESS ABE MABKED FOB COBBECTIOU. 

1 / Though several differing opinions exist as to 

the individual by wjjom the art of printing was V 
first discovered; yet all authorities concur in 
admitting Peter Schoeffer to be the person 3 np 
who invented cast metal types, having learned ' 

(j[ the art-ef- of cutting the letters from the Gut- 
* # « / tembergs/ he is also supposed to have been 
Ijjjf the first whoengraved on copper plates. The 7 /-/ 

following testimony is preseved in the family, 8 / 
9w by^Jo.^JFred. ^Faustus,^of^Ascheffenburg: 
ao Q >' Peter Schoeffer, of Gernsheim, perceiving s ^- 
n\y his master Fausts design, and being himself ^' ^ty 1 * 
12 fa f desirous\ ard entlv ) to improve the art, found 
out (by the good providence of God) the 

13 

method of cutting ( incidcn di) the characters j&£ 

in a matrix, that the letters might easily be 
B / J singly cast! instead of bieng cut. He pri- 12 ^'/ 
l4 ^ vately cut matrices] for the whole alphabet: a 15 
Faust was so pleased with the contrivanpe^ 
/that he promised ^eter to give him hp^only ut/ m 
is /da u g n ^ er Christina in marriage a/promise 3 <& j 
/ w hi cn ne soon after performed./^ 
19 ad l (fBut there were many djjffiLculties at first no °H 
with these letters, as there had been before 3 



cm* 



1 ^vith wooden ones, t>e metal being too soft \_%a£ 
to support the fo?ce of the irnpression: but 9^ / 
this defect was soon remedied, by mixing 
a substance with the metal which sufficiently ^%. 
hardejarecl it/ 

ana waen ne d-nozvea nia. mantel tne 

tetfeVA cadt jfzoin tnede niatziced, 
174 ' 



PROOF-SHEET AS CORRECTED. 

Explanations Explanations 

I wrong letter. Though several differing opinions exist as to 

the individual by whom the art of printing was 2 upside-down. 
first discovered; yet all authorities concur in 
admitting PETER SCHOEFFER to be the 3 capitals, 
person who invented cast metal types, having 

4 Doublet; take learned the art of cutting the letters from the 

5 C o°f lon eriod ead Guttenbergs : he is also supposed to have been 
6 tweenw e o'rd$ tne first who engraved on copper-plates. The 7 H ^ a b n e t n ed . 

following testimony is preserved in the family, 8 L ^ l g er miss - 

9 Bad spacing, by Jo. Fred. Faustus, of Aschaffenburg : 

6 More space 
between lines. 

10 Yrlph."*" 'Peter Schoeffer, of Gernsheim, perceiv- ssmancapi- 

II A wanted! be ^ n S n i s master Faust's design, and being hiin- 
cna^ge d pia ces. se lf ardently desirous to improve the art, found 

out (by the good providence of God) the 

method of cutting (incidendi) the characters in niind. an " e Let 

it stand. " 

a matrix, that the letters might easily be singly 
5 st C e°ad?fVoion. cast , instead of being cut. He privately cut "transposed. 
14 S in ac u stick " matrices for the whole alphabet: and when he 15 An » out." 
showed his master the letters cast from these 
matrices, Faust was so pleased with the con- 
trivance, that he promised Peter to give him " T J r p e U g f size . 
is Type out of his only daughter Christina in marriage, a 3I ^oman. ad 
promise which he soon after performed. But 18 n' ? u 2 Lew 

paragraph. 

19 ^u r t dleft there were as many difficulties at first with 

20D ieue a r S . ed these letters, as there had been before with , JSKfen* 

wooden ones, the metal being too soft to sup- '"SaXS? 

port the force of the impression : but this defect 9 ciose up . 

was soon remedied, by mixing the metal with a "^epiaaa. 
stfad^comma substance which sufficiently hardened it.' 

175 



176 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

In his sketches showing " How a Newspaper is Made," pub- 
lished in Packard' s Monthly, Mr. Cummings thus alludes to 
John C. Robinson, one of the Tribune 's famous Proof-readers : 

Robinson is, without doubt, the fastest proof-reader in the world. He 
marks his corrections on the side of the proof-sheet without ceasing his 
reading. A quick-eyed copy -holder is required to follow Robinson's tongue, 
even on reprint copy. Robinson himself has an eye like a hawk, and, in 
reading a proof-sheet, his eyes are generally at least five lines beyond his 
tongue. I have known him distinctly to enunciate a column of fine 
agate type, Tribune measure, in nine minutes. In October, 1863, he was 
timed by Benjamin L. Glesby and S. T. Selleck, two of the best compositors 
ever employed on the Tribune, when he read and marked the proof-sheet 
corrections of fourteen columns of solid nonpareil in an hour and twenty 
minutes. This was done on a wager for seven dollars. The sheets were 
afterward carefully read by an experienced proof-reader, and but two typo- 
graphical blunders (both turned s's) discovered. 

It is almost superfluous to say that the man who is a compe- 
tent Proof-reader must have an excellent memory, a sharp 
eye, a quick mind, good judgment, some knowledge of the 
various languages, and a thorough knowledge of past and 
passing events. 



CHAPTER XX. 

TYPOGRAPHIC ERRORS. 



WHEN a man writes anything to appear "in print," if 
there is anything he does not want to see in it, it is a 
typographic error — a wrong letter instead of a right one, or a 
wrong word where a right one ought to be, especially when it 
distorts the sense, as it often does in the latter case, transforming 
a well-formed and high-sounding sentence into a superior article 



TYPOGRAPHIC ERRORS, 1 77 

of bosh. Some typographic errors are highly amusing, except 
to those immediately concerned, and to them they are a source 
of much tribulation. When one writes a lofty editorial, and it 
passes through the hands of some careless compositor and proof- 
reader with the word "tooth" for "truth," "eggs" for "ages," 
" maternal " for " material," and " infernal " for " imperial," 
he may well be pardoned for wishing that several people would 
drop dead. 

I once wrote a serial for a weekly paper, in one chapter of 
which the word "malingerer" (a soldier who "plays sick" to 
shirk duty) occurred. Conscious of the great probability that 
it would appear as " maligner " in the eyes of the compositor, I 
took the trouble to write a note to the proof-reader, calling his 
attention to the word, and particularly requesting him to be 
careful not to allow the wrong word to appear ; nevertheless, 
despite all my pains, he did overlook it, and the readers of my 
romance learned for the first time that a soldier who feigns 
sickness for the sake of exemption from duty is a " maligner," 
no matter whether he has " lied on " anybody or not. 

Here is a copy of an advertisement which once appeared in a 
San Francisco paper with which I was connected ; and although I 
felt somewhat annoyed when the person most interested came in 
and called my attention to it, I could not help laughing when I 
took the second look at the last line and noted its very droll 
appearance : 

Phil. J. Gerhardy, 

Stall 112, New Addition to 

California MarUet, 

Entrance on Pine Street, . .#. . . . San Francisco. 

American Beef, Veal, Mutton, Lamb, Pork, etc., 

Of the B Questality, always on hand. 

M 



178 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

The "B Questality" does not seem to mean much of any- 
thing in the English language. Any one will see that " Best 
Quality" was what was intended, while those not familiar with 
the printer's art may wonder how such a mistake could have 
occurred. Easily enough. A "wrong letter " or two had been 
marked in the proof, and to replace it the printer had lifted out 
several types, and the space, probably, at the beginning of the 
word "Quality," and without his observing it, the letters 
"est" got shifted over and joined the "ality" of the word 
" Quality." So, when he put the " Qu " and space in, he, with 
vigilance relaxed, it must be confessed, put them in immediately 
following the "B," and the paper went to press with a lone- 
some-looking capital letter, and a word of four syllables not to 
be found in our vocabulary. In a Boston paper I find a ridicu- 
lous error that must have occurred substantially in the same way. 
It is that paper's custom to place over its regular press dispatches, 
in small caps: [To the Associated Press;] but on the occa- 
sion referred to, owing to some such accident as described 
above, the line appeared thus : the ass [to ociated press]. 

As one of the most amusing cases of typographic errors which 
have really happened, it may be mentioned that a California 
compositor made an editor say about a contemporary that it 
stood "in the front rank of inferior journals." Of course, 
"interior" was the word intended. No less amusing was, a 
slight error in a Pittsburg paper a few years ago, which paper, 
in a summary of legislative proceedings, said that "the bill 
was pasted over the Governor's head." An intruding "t" in 
the place of a missing "s" made "passed" "pasted." In a 
well-known book-printing establishment in Philadelphia the 
slightly vexatious typographic errors of "canary Scotchman" 
for "canny Scotchman," and "storm-blown fly" for "storm- 
blown lily," are known to have occurred. 



TYPOGRAPHIC ERRORS. Ijg 

I once knew a gentleman who published a newspaper of whose 
typographic correctness he was very proud, and he did not 
scruple to say so ; and I remember of his telling me once that 
he had a mind to offer a large reward for any typographic error 
found in his paper. This was hyperbole, of course, as it would 
be very hard indeed to find a perfectly "clean" newspaper. 
Indeed, a newspaper entirely free from typographic errors would 
be little less than a prodigy. It must be remembered that in a 
newspaper of the average size there are about two hundred 
thousand separate and distinct pieces of metal ; and it will be 
agreed that to put all these exactly in their proper places, without 
so much as one slight mistake, and that, too, chiefly in a single 
day or night, would require the services of beings who have 
arrived at perfection itself, not one of which class I have yet 
been able to find. 

On one occasion the gentleman alluded to published a few 
very unfavorable comments on one of my works, which fact, 
taken alone, was not calculated to disturb me in the slightest 
degree. On the contrary, after what I have said on the subject 
of Book-Reviewing in another chapter, it might be surmised 
that I was rather pleased than otherwise. I suppose, really, 
(for it was many years ago,) the book was fully as defective as 
he pronounced it ; but I happened to know that his unfavorable 
allusion to it (an allusion he had gone quite out of his way to 
make at all) was dictated by a bit of personal ill-feeling that 
existed between us only for a short time, and the paragraph con- 
tained within itself some material which afforded me a beauti- 
ful opportunity for revenge. I observed that it was not entirely 
free from typographic errors, and on going over it as a proof- 
reader I found nineteen typographic errors, and all within a 
paragraph of less than two stickfuls ! Remembering how he 
had boasted to me that his paper was a marvel of typographic 



180 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

correctness, I clipped the paragraph, pasted it on a sheet of 
copy-paper, marked all the errors in the usual proof-reader's 
style, and sent it to the editor with my compliments. I met 
him a day or two afterward in the street, and extending a 
friendly hand he said : 

"By Jove! That was pretty good; but I'll take my oath 
it went in accidentally without the proof being read at all." 

While accepting his friendly hand, I pleasantly suggested that 
he might, with great good judgment, relate that romance to 
members of a certain armed body connected with the navy ; 
adding, hyperbolically : 

' : Why, my dear fellow, that 's nothing. It 's clean com- 
pared with some other matter I noticed in the same number of 
your paper ! ' ' 

" Spare me!" he said. 

We were friends ever afterward, and I even subsequently con- 
tributed many a column to his paper, which columns, I am 
bound to say, were generally printed with a more careful regard 
to typographic correctness. 

There are extant some verses bearing on the subject of typo- 
graphic errors, which have been going the rounds of the press 
for years. I do not know who their author was, but I think 
them so nearly true to nature as to be worth quoting here in 
full: 

REFLECTIONS 

UPON RECEIVING A COPY OF MY FIRST POEM PUBLISHED IN 
A NEWSPAPER. 

Ah ! here it is ! I'm famous now — 

An author and a poet ! 
It really is in print ! ye gods ! 

How proud I'll be to show it ! 



PUNCTUA TION, 1 8 3 

I wish I had that editor 

About a half a minute, 
I 'd bang him to his heart's content, 

And with an H begin it ; 
I 'dj'am his body, eyes and nose, 

And spell it with a D, 
And send him to that hill of his ; 

He spells it with an E. 



CHAPTER XXI 

PUNCTUATION. 



THE great importance of punctuation, and correct punctu- 
ation, at that, is not generally appreciated, insomuch 
that many very intelligent though not professionally literary 
persons write their letters, or other documents, without ever 
thinking of such a thing as punctuating them. The difficulty 
of teaching punctuation cannot easily be over-estimated. It is 
about as hard to teach punctuation as to teach journalism itself, 
,for the same reasons ; namely, there are so few rules which can 
be safely offered as guides. The general ignorance of the sub- 
ject is so vast as to amount to a kind of specific darkness of 
understanding. Every journalist or practical printer sees de- 
fective punctuation, or no attempt at punctuation at all, in 
nineteen of every twenty letters he receives ; he will see defec- 
tive or incomplete punctuation in deeds, wills, mortgages, and 
other legal instruments ; he will see bad punctuation, if any, in 
every communication or advertisement sent in by an " outsider " 
to be set up ; he will see much miserable and often ridiculous 
punctuation in costly business signs. On the punctuation of 



184 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

sign-painters, I find an article in the Philadelphia Sunday Ti'an- 
scripi, from which I make the following brief extract : 

The art of punctuation is not thoroughly understood by any portion of 
mankind, except a certain class of sign-painters that infest this city. One 
could not learn a better lesson in punctuation than by taking a walk of 
about one hundred squares through the business quarters of the city, and 
surveying the numerous signs that adorn the doors, windows and walls of 
buildings in which goods are sold, or in which professional men "hang 
out." A few examples which we shall give, may prove eminently useful 
to such as desire to gain knowledge on the subject present. 

Not more than five hundred squares from the State House, there may be 
seen a gilt sign over a modest shop-door, staring boldly at the passer-by, 
the purport of which is as follows, to wit : 

John, Anderson Saddlery: & Harness! 

It will be perceived that the learned artist, with that strict adherence to 
the correct principles of punctuation for which sign-painters are proverbial, 
has placed a comma after the word "John." This, besides being both cor- 
rect and elegant, is calculated to give the reader of the sign a little time to 
breathe after pronouncing "John," before he tackles "Anderson." With 
his accustomed sagacity and foresight, the artist has left a perfectly blank 
space between "Anderson" and "Saddlery," presuming, no doubt, that 
the reader would catch enough breath at the comma after " John " to enable 
him to utter two words in succession without resting. After this, however, 
repose seems to be needed ; and the obliging artist has tenderly placed a 
colon (:) after the word " Saddlery," which will give every reasonable man 
all the breathing-time he could ask before completing his perusal of the sign. 
Then come the " & Harness," topped out with an elaborate note of admira- 
tion (!). This suggests that the reader, having perused all the words of the sign, 
occupies a little more leisure time in admiring it. And who could help it ? 

The writer of the above, while on the subject of sign-painters, 
might have added that many of them are not troubled with any- 
very delicate sense of the proprieties of orthography. I have 
seen in Philadelphia a gilt sign probably costing a hundred 



PUNCTUA TION. 1 8 5 

dollars that read thus : " Steam Dying Establishment." Dying 
is seldom pleasant to contemplate, but I think I could never 
reconcile myself to dying by steam. Such a form of death — 
always with the exception of being talked to death — would 
appear to me to be about the most horrible that could well be 
devised. In these days of collisions and explosions, I could 
scarcely have wondered if I had seen the sign at the depot of a 
railroad, or the main wharf of a steamboat line, but I confess 
to some surprise at seeing it in a fashionable street, with a mil- 
linery store on one side and on the other an establishment for 
the sale of hosiery "and things." Possibly "dyeing" was the 
word meant by the sagacious sign-painter. If so, that puts a 
new color on the matter ; and I venture to suggest that a more 
liberal knowledge of orthography would have enabled him in 
this case to do his work with more " e's". 

Defective punctuation — often accidental — is sometimes 
very amusing. I read in a daily not long ago that " a bycicle 
race of a hundred and six miles was won in five-and-a-half 
seconds, less than eight hours." To travel a hundred and six 
miles in five-and-a-half seconds was a marvelous feat, to be 
sure ; but not half so strange as the fact that the editor thought 
it necessary to state that that amount of time was " less than 
eight hours." Why, who ever thought that five-and-a-half 
seconds were more than eight hours, or even so much ? But 
then drop the intruding comma after "seconds," and we find, 
what was meant to be said, that the race was won in " five-and- 
a-half seconds less than eight hours." Of course, every one 
has heard how a minister of the Gospel w T as shocked when he 
found that a paragraph in his sermon on the horrors of intem- 
perance was thus reported and printed in a country newspaper : 
"Why, only last Sabbath, in this holy house, a woman fell 
from one of those seats while I was preaching the Gospel in a 
16* 



1 86 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

state of beastly intoxication." A couple of commas would 
have charged the woman, and not the minister himself, with 
"beastly intoxication." 

I will not be accused of over-estimating the importance of 
correct punctuation, when I state the well-authenticated fact 
that not long since the erroneous substitution of a comma for a 
hyphen involved a loss to the United States Treasury of two 
million dollars. The case was this: A bill was passed by 
Congress, and became a law, to admit free of duty "tropic 
fruit-plants, trees and seeds." The engrossing clerk, thinking 
he knew ju^t a trifle more than the statesman who had framed 
the bill (who, by the way, may have omitted the hyphen), 
placed a very distinct comma after the word "fruit," and a 
law was placed upon the statute-book admitting tropic fruit, as 
well as "plants, trees and seeds," free of duty, — which ought 
to have had the effect of reducing the prices of oranges, bananas 
and lemons, — and before the mistake was discovered and rec- 
tified, it caused the loss in revenue of the sum mentioned. 
When a comma is considered worth two million dollars, what 
would be the commercial value of a couple of two-em dashes 

( ), or, say, three consecutive notes of admiration 

(!!!)? 



CHAPTER XXII. 

OUR ORTHOGRAPHY. 



IT need scarcely be said that every printer, as well as every 
writer for the press, ought to be a "good speller; " and 
in order to become thoroughly versed in orthography, much 
research and an excellent memory are necessary. Much is to 



OUR ORTHOGRAPHY. 1 87 

be learned that has not been learned at school. There are a 
vast number of words in common use in the English language 
that are spelled in two or more different ways, each way being 
"correct" according to some authority or other. There are 
many words as to the orthography of which our two leading 
lexicographers, Webster and Worcester, do not agree. It 
therefore becomes necessary for a printing-office to adopt the 
uniform style of one or the other with regard to certain words 
and certain classes of words of equivocal orthography, and 
"stick to it" — "follow Webster," or "follow Worcester," 
as the case may be. Thus, every editor and every printer 
ought to be familiar with the distinguishing features of both 
Dictionaries, each of which, I believe, contains over a hundred 
thousand words. 

Probably, no great harm is done, yet some confusion is 
caused by having various modes of spelling the same word, and 
the proof-reader makes many a mark with his pen or pencil that 
would be unnecessary if we had one universal form of spelling 
each word in our language, as we certainly ought to have. 

In the course of my own literary and journalistic work, I 
have seen fit to "follow" Webster; not on account of the 
slightest prejudice in favor of Noah Webster himself or his 
lexicon, now, like Worcester's, so greatly amplified, but because 
his system of spelling many words of mooted orthography is at 
least one little step in the direction of a system of phonetic 
spelling, which I long to see adopted. And some such radical 
system will be adopted, though possibly not during the exist- 
ence of this generation. We are always moving in the direc- 
tion of improvement, and I confidently claim that our orthog- 
raphy will be improved by simplifying it — that our language 
will be strengthened by being made plainer and more easily 
written. 



1 88 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

The phonetic system will eventually prevail, and our present 
clumsy orthography, with its many useless letters, will be repu- 
diated. Ay, the time will come — nor is it anything like so 
distant as the Age of Man from the Azoic Age — when men 
will look back on the literature of the present day, and laugh 
at the idea of spelling the word " through " with seven letters, 
when two (of the enlarged alphabet) will be found sufficient ; 
and of spelling "phthisis " with eight letters, when five at most 
will do the office ; or " sleigh " with six letters, when only two, 
or at most three, will be necessary. Reform in this matter 
must originate in the United States, for our English cousins are 
so very conservative, and to the last minute will stick to their 
"honour," their "colour," their "waggon " with two "g's," 
and their "traveller" with two "(h)l's." One of the argu- 
ments against the proposed phonetic system of spelling is that 
it would soon destroy all traces of the dead languages, from 
which probably a vast majority of our words are derived. Sup- 
pose it does ? Of what use are the dead languages ? Though 
even your dearest friend die, why should you keep the corpse 
in the house forever? We must bid good-by to Latin and 
Greek some day, and the sooner we do so the sooner we shall 
improve our own language. 

I know it will be said that many terms in the sciences — 
astronomy, anatomy, pharmacy, physics — and in the law are 
familiarly known among nearly all civilized people of various 
languages, but these may be "Anglicized " or " commonized," 
cut down or so arranged as to become a part of the English 
language, or, to start with, a part of a universal diplomatic 
language, so to speak. I think that all the people of the world 
will eventually speak one common, plain and simple language 
(it may be the English), all with the same dialect, same pro- 
nunciation, same accent and same (when writing) orthography. 



OUR ORTHOGRAPHY. 1 89 

As a prelude to this "consummation devoutly to be wished," 
it has been suggested that some language be adopted as a uni- 
versal language, for each person in the world to learn and 
master, in addition to his own local tongue. On this subject I 
quote from an article written for a well-known journal by a 
gentleman known to be a careful, penetrating thinker on, and 
investigator of, philology and kindred subjects : 

It has been suggested that the people of the whole world will one day 
speak the same language — that eventually all living languages save one 
will be abandoned, and that this favored one will be adopted by the whole 
world, and become the common tongue of all mankind. This may be too 
much to hope for. At least it is not likely to be brought about for hundreds 
and possibly thousands of years ;. but there is something that may be accom- 
plished within a generation or two that will answer almost as good a pur- 
pose. A common language may be agreed upon by all civilized peoples, 
which every person shall learn in addition to his own, and which shall be 
taught every child so soon as it has mastered its mother-tongue. This lan- 
guage might be the English, German, French, Spanish, or any modern 
language that might be adopted, say, by an international philological con- 
vention. Such a system once accomplished, no man need know more than 
one language besides his own, in order to be able to converse freely with 
people of all quarters of the civilized world. The principle would then be 
the same that applies now to medical and surgical nomenclature. A physi- 
cian's prescription, as every one knows, is written in Latin, which is 
a " Common Language " for the use of the medical fraternity ; and, there- 
fore, the prescription of an American or English physician is read with the 
same ease by an American or English, French, Russian, German, or Italian 
apothecary. It is related — and it is a good illustration — that a learned 
American, traveling in Russia a few years ago, whiled away the long hours 
of a tedious journey in a stage-coach by conversing in Latin with his only 
traveling-companion, who happened to be a priest of the Greek Church. 
Neither knew a word of the mother-tongue of the other, but both were 
familiar with the Latin (although their pronunciation and accentuation were 
somewhat different), and thus they conversed for hours in a language which 
had been dead for many centuries. With a universal colloquial, diplo- 



T90 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

matic, or commercial language (it matters not what it may be termed) once 
established, any person, whether thoroughly educated or not, may converse 
fluently with the natives of all countries through which he may travel; and 
there will never be any occasion for learning half a dozen languages, as 
some have found it necessaiy to do, in order to have clear and satisfactory 
intercourse with the literary, scientific, or commercial world. 

With reference to the subject of phonetics, I quote from 
an article I contributed some years ago to the California 
Teacher, a small magazine published under the auspices of the 
State School Department : 

I advocate a complete revolution in Orthography, looking to the estab- 
lishment of a system of spelling at least approaching the phonetic. A literary 
convention representing all the people who speak the English language would 
be a means by which much might be speedily accomplished in the way of 
making important and much-needed improvements in our language. Let 
our present elaborate dictionaries be taken as a mere foundation for a new 
and grander orthographic structure. Let a system be adopted, perfect in 
its simplicity, and let every silent letter be expelled from our vocabulary. 
There are thousands of words in the English language which, as cliey are 
now spelled, contain from one to half a dozen superfluous letters that are 
worse than useless, because they are only calculated to puzzle and confound 
the pupil. I will cite a few examples, writing the same words opposite, in 
the new form I propose to give them : 

Yacht. Yot. 

Though. Tho. 

Through. Thru. 

Tough. • Tuf. 

Freight. Frat. 

Wright. Rit. 

Phthisic. Tizik. 

The present orthography of the last-named word is little less than 
ludicrous. It has been subjected to ridicule by eveiy school-boy, although 
the object itself, aside from its clumsy orthographic dress, is entitled to great 
respect. 






OUR ORTHOGRAPHY. I9I 

It is related of a well-known member of Congress, not particularly noted 
for his research in literature, that he entered a book-store in Pittsburg, Pa., 
one day, and asked for a dictionary. 

"Are all the words in this ?" he asked. 

"Yes," replied the clerk, " all that are in common use/' 

The purchase was made, but on the next day our Congressional friend 
came stalking into the store, with the valuable collection of words under his 
arm. 

" I thought-you told me I could find any word in this," he said to the 
clerk, laying the book upon the counter. 

" So you can," was the reply. 

"Where's 'physician'?" asked the statesman, with an air of confident 
triumph. 

The clerk opened the dictionary, traced out the desired word, and pointed 
to it with an emphatic — 

"There!" 

The public man gazed upon the word, and, while a whole volume of new 
light broke out upon his face, exclaimed : 

" O — that 's it ? — I thought you spelt it with an F." 

Very natural, though, was it not ? 

When I suggest that our orthography be so simplified that we shall write 
"tho," instead of "though/" "kof," instead of " cough ; " " enuf," instead 
of "enough;" "sla," instead of "sleigh;" etc., I know that the reader 
will exclaim : " O, that would look so odd ! We never could reconcile 
ourselves to it! " 

Now, would not English scholars have uttered the same exclamation two 
hundred years ago, had any one then proposed to write the language as we 
write it now ? Here, for example, is a specimen of the English language 
two centuries ago, taken from an account of an earthquake in New Eng- 
land, as given in " Bradford's History : " 

" This yeare (1638) about ye I or 2 of June, was a great & fearfull earth- 
quake ; it was in this place hearde before it was felte. It came with a 
rumbling noyse, or low murmure, like unto remoate thunder; it came from 
ye norward and pased southwarde." 

Does not this look very droll to us ? Yes. Would not our present or- 
thography of these words have looked just as droll to the people of those 
days? Yes. If we could see a specimen of the improved English lan- 
guage of a century or two hence, with its phonetic spelling, would it not 



1 92 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

look as droll to us as ours would have seemed to our ancestors ? Yes, 
After the improvements of a century or two, will not the words and sen- 
tences which we now regard as quite artistic appear as odd as those of our 
ancestors now appear to us ? Yes. Then do not be unnerved or disarmed 
by that terrible (?) exclamation, "-0, how it would look!" Might as 
well consult Mrs. Grundy at once. Let us move in this matter, — do the 
work that must and will be done within a century, — the work of simpli- 
fying our orthography, and rooting out its many incongruities and its many 
superfluities. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

A BAD EDITOR. 



TO conduct a weekly paper properly involves much labor, 
yet this labor, compared with the work on a daily, is a 
mere round of fun and enjoyment. The editor of the weekly 
paper need not hurry to his office in the morning, nor need he 
remain late in the evening. He can work with far more delib- 
eration, and his work is (or ought to be) much more studied and 
elaborate. But he finds no small amount of labor to do every 
day, and should he absent himself from his duties one day in 
the week, he must toil perceptibly and materially harder during 
the remainder of the week to make up for it. He can ''arrange " 
it so as to take a day off occasionally, without employing a sub- 
stitute ; an editor on a daily cannot. The latter has a day's 
work to do every day, and one hour's absence during the usual 
periods for working would often be a very serious loss. Alto- 
gether, there is not a prettier business in the world, accord- 
ing to my way of thinking, than conducting a respectable, well- 
established, paying weekly newspaper, with everything working 
smoothly. There is labor in it, I know, but it is just enough 



A BAD EDITOR. 1 93 

to be healthy, to keep the mind cheerful, as employment always 
does, without merging into the drudgery, the heavy, wearying, 
exhausting toil, that presses like a great weight upon the brain 
of the daily editor. 

During about three years I (together with a man named 
Cranks) published a large weekly paper in San Francisco, which 
I shall here style the Enunciator. It was devoted to news and 
literature, with a preponderance in favor of the latter ; and 
gave much editorial attention to passing events, the stage, art 
and music. I am pretty sure I did all I could to make it an 
engine for the advancement of the public good, as well as my 
own, and there was a time when it was a fabric whose founda- 
tion walls were deeply rooted. But Cranks ! He was an extra- 
ordinary man, indeed. I must say much of him, because he was 
such an odd character. I never saw a man like him ; I never 
will ; for there is no other like him in this world. There never 
was, there never will be another Cranks. He belonged to no 
distinctive class of men, and it would be presumptuous even 
to describe him as what naturalists would term a "generaliza- 
tion." He was a living refutation of the theory of Darwin. 
He stood alone, with no match or like. He was Cranks — 
simply Cranks. 

He had lived forty years. He weighed one hundred and 
ninety pounds. He was five feet seven and a half inches high. 
He was thick; he was stout; he was "chuffy." He had a 
round face, that at a short distance might readily have been 
mistaken for the head of a flour-barrel ; his cheeks were puffy ; 
his nose was short, wide, flattish and stub*by; his chin unduly 
depressed ; his teeth as prominent as his plethoric lips ; his 
mouth extended ; his mustache dark and heavy, but not long ; 
and his neglected hair grew only from the comparatively verti- 
cal portions of his head, and hung to his coat-collar, for upon 
17 N 



194 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

the summit of his head there was no hair whatever, although 
that portion of the cranium, as has been aptly observed in a 
popular song, is highly appropriate for the cultivation of the 
capillary integument. This defect, however, was only percep- 
tible when Cranks' s hat was off; therefore it was rarely seen at 
all. A few of his most intimate acquaintances — not friends — 
knew it ; the world knew it not. Yet let me not be understood 
to insinuate that bald heads are a reproach. On the contrary, 
every time I see a bald head I think that if it were mine I 
would not part with it for any consideration. 

Cranks had a forehead. It was situated just over his 
round gray eyes and flattened nose, and extended from his 
right to his left temple; but you could not have discovered 
where the forehead ended, on each side, and where the temple 
began, because these portions of his head were so jolly round. 
If you had cut his head off and set it upside-down on his 
shoulders — he had no neck — the corpulent chin would have 
made just as good a forehead, and at a short distance you would 
not have known the difference. He wouldn't, either. Indeed, 
the world itself would not have been a loser by the change. I 
am pained to state, however, that this generally unimportant 
operation was never performed while I knew him. 

Cranks had a mouth which, although of immense size, he 
worked to its fullest capacity at meal-times, for he eat much 
victuals ; and between meals that mouth was ever engaged in 
"bulling" the tobacco market. Nevertheless, he was a "bear" 
himself, and he growled like that horrible wild beast whenever 
spoken to — especially when writing. Yet he was no fluent 
writer, and he labored over the work like a man trying to roll 
a hogshead of molasses up a perpendicular wall. He would sit 
down and smoke and "chaw" tobacco, and scratch paper with 
his pen, and grunt and growl one hour and twenty minutes, and 



A BAD EDITOR. 1 95 

the result would be three, four or five little pages of manuscript. 
Then he would stop and say he was "gone in" with work, and 
would sit and smoke. 

Cranks had an abstracted air, like one who does not belong 
to this world. I don't believe he did. To speak to him and get 
an immediate answer, was as rare as the Transit of Venus ; to 
get a pleasant answer, as rare as steamships in north latitude 
90 . He never approached anything like an attitude of gentle- 
ness, except shortly after having seen a funeral procession in 
the street, for the fear of Death was ever before his eyes. The 
sight of a harmless hearse or useful coffin sent a thrill of horror 
through him. I never saw a man who so much dreaded Death. 
He was continually thinking about Death, talking about it and 
dreading it. It was part of his very nature to fear Death. He 
did n't mind living so much, but he did hate the idea of dying 
— "of falling into naught, of being dead." One day, shortly 
after he had seen an undertaker's wagon driving along the street, 
I really pitied him, and, ignoring his graver faults, tried to 
comfort him. To that end I repeated to him these beautiful 
lines by T. W. Parsons : 

O, but death is bliss S 
I feel as certain, looking on the face 

Of a dead sister, smiling from her shroud, 
That our sweet angel hath but changed her place, 

And passed to peace, as when, amid the crowd 
Of the mad city, I feel sure of rest 
Beyond the hills — a few hours further west. 

But Cranks was posted on Death, and opening a well-marked 
copy of Shakespeare he pointed with a shudder to this thrilling 
passage in "Measure for Measure : " 

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; 
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot : 



I96 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit 
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; 
To be imprisoned in the viewless winds, 
And blown with restless violence round about 
The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst 
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible ! 
The weariest and most loathed worldly life 
That age, ache, penury and imprisonment 
Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
To what we fear of death ! 

Indeed, his fear of Death was puerile and cowardly ; yet 
while he dreaded both Death and that — 

Something after death, 
That undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
No traveler returns, 

he was not a holy man. He was disingenuous, spiteful, envious, 
disagreeable, malicious, "with more offenses at (his) beck than 
(he had) thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them 
shape, or time to act them in." 

Cranks hated me ; for what reason I know not, but I suppose 
it was because I was his partner. Certainly, it could have been 
for no more heinous offense — and perhaps, after all, that blun- 
der of mine was very reprehensible. Yes, Cranks hated me, 
and I have no doubt would have been glad at any moment dur- 
ing our acquaintance to see me killed — but for the fact that to 
witness such a tragedy he would necessarily have had to stand 
in the awful presence of Death. Cranks hated me ; and if I 
entered the office finding him there, or if he came in finding 
me there, and I greeted him with a cheerful "good-morning," 



A BAD EDITOR. ig? 

he only answered me with a churlish grunt, if indeed he an- 
swered at all, or simply looked " wicked " at me. This remark- 
able man seemed to regard it as one of the first rules of copart- 
nership, and as entirely essential to the end aimed at by the 
formation of such copartnership, — whatever may have been his 
ideas of what that end ought to be, — that nothing like har- 
mony between partners should be for a moment encouraged. 
Certainly his actions indicated that he entertained such views. 

Many of the queer things he did during the three years I was 
associated with him seem almost incredible — certainly almost 
irreconcilable with the proposition that he was a sane man. 
For example, he would hide my pens, paste-pots, blotters, even 
my scissors, — which was little short of a crime ! — or would 
throw them away or destroy them, merely that he might have 
an opportunity, when I began to look for them, to say with a 
very sneering manner that " some people never knew where to 
find anything," had no sense of system or order; he would 
slyly tell friends who called to see me that I was out, when he 
knew I was in the composing-room, and so send them away 
without seeing me ; he would go out of his way to close a win- 
dow by my table that I had opened to let in a little fresh air, 
or to open one I had closed when it grew a little too cool ; he 
would contrive typographic errors, not only to annoy me, but 
to blame me with them when he had actually manufactured 
them, and destroy the proofs I had read in order that no refer- 
ence could be made to them to show where the fault was, or 
was not ; he surreptitiously inserted in the paper scurrilous arti- 
cles alluding distantly to prominent gentlemen whom he knew 
to be my personal friends, and would pretend that they were 
communications ; and he annoyed me in a variety of ways that 
were as childish on his part as they were harassing to me. All 
this, and much more, I patiently endured nearly three years 
17* 



I98 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

before I yielded to the impulse to " give him a terrible beating,'* 
which course finally became unavoidable. After this scene, 
which occurred in the office, and which I take no pleasure in 
recalling, he fled from the establishment, and did not return for 
a period of three days, at the end of which time I suppose he 
concluded I had grown sufficiently calm not to make him a 
subject of Death. 

Probably the worst feature of this singular man's disposition 
— from a business point of view — was his prompt and even 
violent opposition to every project not conceived by himself. 
Should I make any proposition for the advancement of our 
common interests, he would oppose it, and even ridicule it, 
with offensive language. For example, I would say : 

"Mr. Cranks, how would it do to run another column of 
1 ads. ' on the first page, to relieve the third ? ' ' 

"A man must be a fool who has no better taste than that," 
would be his courteous reply. 

On another occasion, I would humbly say : 

" Mr. Cranks, in view of the state of our fonts, how would 
it do to set some of our extracts and special notices in minion, 
instead of nonpareil ! ' ' 

"Well" — with a sneer— "any school-boy ought to have 
more sense than that." 

A more important matter would arise, and I would say : 

" Mr. Cranks, I have discovered that James X. Smith (a man 
employed in our business department, for example) is acting 
dishonestly with us. I think we had better discharge him and 
get some one else." 

"O, I guess you only imagine it," Cranks would reply. 
" Even if he does knock down, we might get one who would 
be no better, or who would even be worse. I hate to make 
changes. Better hold on to Smith awhile." 



A BAD EDITOR. 1 99 

This, not because he loved Smith, but because he haled me ; 
and as we were equal partners no important step could be taken 
in any of our departments without the consent of both. This 
continual conflict might have been avoided by dividing the 
departments, and allowing each one to run one or more to suit 
himself; why was n't this done? O, I did propose it once, but 
of course, as a proposition coming from me, Cranks repelled it 
with bitterness and wrath. 

" Was this man insane? " will be asked. 

No, I am sure he was not ; yet I will try to be charitable 
enough — while it is a stupendous task — to say that perhaps he 
could not help it. He was one of those churlish men who can 
never be happy except when everybody around them is miser- 
able ; and such men usually have within them the qualities nec- 
essary to make people around them miserable. " The writer 
of this has not seen through the thing clearly," some people 
will say who know something of business copartnerships. " The 
case is plain enough. Cranks was trying to freeze him out." 

No, he wasn't. I once offered to buy him out. His reply: 

"There is no amount of money that would buy my half of 
the Enunciator" 

" I would like to dissolve this business relation by some 
means," I said. " What will you give me for my half ? " 

His reply : 

•' I wouldn't give you four cents, — and, what 's more, I'll 
do all I can to prevent your selling to any one else." 

And he did. A gentleman offered me five thousand dollars 
for my interest, but Cranks promptly told him he didn't want 
him for a partner; and so, of course, he didn't buy. He 
would have been a fool if he had, under such discouraging 
circumstances. 

Cranks' s extraordinary deportment paralyzed the growth of 



200 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

the Enunciator, as might well have been expected, and ulti- 
mately brought upon it and him and me financial ruin. And 
I must say that I was never so happy in my life as when the 
voice of the Enunciator — in which I had often felt much 
pride — was hushed forever, and I walked forth into the world 
again, penniless, but free from Cranks, that incubus that for 
three years had been pressing me down ! 

I have thus briefly described one of the most remarkable 
men I ever met — not because my private affairs are likely to 
be of the slightest interest to the general public, but because 
he was a " character " so entirely singular, and one that would 
indeed make a study. I have not exaggerated in this outline 
of the man ; indeed my once harsh feelings toward him have 
been softened by a lapse of years, so that I have, comparatively 
speaking, rather praised him than otherwise ; yet had I read in 
fiction a description of exactly such a character as Cranks, 
before I saw him, I should have regarded it as a piece of the 
wildest caricaturing. Entirely blind to his own interests ; pre- 
ferring discord and consequent ruin to harmony and success ; 
a puerile coward, dreading Death, yet daring to domineer in a 
manner mortally offensive ; hating a convivial word in the sun- 
shine of noon, yet nightly indulging in strange orgies ; he was to 
me a problem and a puzzle, and such will remain so long as I live. 

Cranks wrote verses. I did, too. But the trouble was, that 
anything written by myself was always ridiculed by him. 
However " trashy " my productions were, — and some of them, 
I believe, were considerably so, — I knew that his adverse, not 
to say insolent, criticisms were only prompted by his cynical 
disposition, without reference to their merits or demerits; ar.d 
this led me to perpetrate a neat little practical joke on him, 
which, however, had a denoue??ient altogether unanticipated by 
me. One day, after he had impressed it upon me in unusually 



A BAD EDITOR. 201 

coarse terms that I was "no poet," — and he was certainly 

correct there, for writing verses, even though they be " clever," 

is not writing poetry, — I got into a proper frame of mind for 

writing a short satire in rhyme, and its title was, "The Churl." 

"And thus awhile the fit did work on me," but I did not hand 

the "poem" in to the foreman of the Enunciator. I was 

conscious of a device of just twice the commercial value of that. 

I put it in my pocket, and that evening called on a female 

friend, of much intelligence, to whom I confided my plans. I 

then requested her to copy my verses, which she kindly did, in 

her own neat feminine hand ; and next I dictated, and she 

wrote, the following note : 

San Francisco, May 14, 18 — . 
Mr. Cranks : 

Dear Sir : — I frequently write verses for pastime, but have often declared 
that I would never have any of my effusions published. Nevertheless, I 
herewith inclose my latest production, which I am vain enough to think 
might be worthy of seeing the light. If you agree with me, you may pub- 
lish it in the Enunciator, of which I am a regular reader; but please 
attach no name to it, as I do not wish my friends to know that it is mine, 
and that I have thus broken my vow not to do what they have often im- 
portuned me to do — namely, "appear in print." 

Respectfully yours, 

Miss Tree. 

The note and the " poem " were inclosed in a large envelope, 
addressed in the same feminine hand to Mr. Cranks, and 
dropped into the Post-office. On the second morning after- 
ward, Cranks and I being alone in the editorial room of the 
Enunciator, he spoke to me almost pleasantly, which of course 
astonished me very much. In fact, I began to fear that he was 
losing his mind. Addressing me familiarly by my last name, 
without the cold form of " Mr.," he said : 

" You did n't drop round last night ? " 

" No," I replied \ " I went to the California Theater. Were 
you here?" 



202 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

"Yes, an hour or so/' he replied, carelessly. "Being here 
alone, with everything quiet around me, an idea struck me, and 
I sat down and wrote a little poem. I never wrote with such 
ease in my life. In fact, the poem seemed to flow out of its 
own accord. Ah, it 's in me; there 's no use in talking. 
That, now, is a poem," and he held up several sheets of manu- 
script, shaking them triumphantly. "Ah," he continued, 
rather ' ' more in sorrow than in anger, ' ' which was of course a 
very abnormal condition for him to get himself worked into, 
" if you could only write like that ! ' ' 

Then he handed me his manuscript that I might read it, and 
so learn what real poetry was. I knew that he had once or 
twice written some very clever verses, and I prepared myself to 
give his latest effort at least all the praise it should, in my judg- 
ment, merit. Imagine, then, my astonishment, — not to say 
disgust at his mendacity, — when I glanced at the first page and 
found it -to be my own poem, "The Churl." Impressed with 
its merits, — shall I say ? — and little suspecting its source, he 
had copied it in order to show it to me in his own handwriting 
and make me believe he had written it himself. If he had 
watched me narrowly, he must have seen me start when I looked 
at the title ; but, probably fearing that I might observe a sig- 
nificant expression, that of conscious deceit, in his own face, 
he turned away, ostensibly to light his pipe. Quickly regaining 
my composure, I deliberately read the poem to the end, dis- 
covering that it was copied word for word, and then pronounced 
it very fine indeed, remarking to Cranks that I thought he had 
never written so good a thing before. I don't think yet that I 
uttered a falsehood in saying so. 

"The Churl" was promptly published in the Enwtciator, 
'and was copied by a few exchanges that happened to need a 
poem very badly. I intended to leave Cranks "alone in his 



A BAD EDITOR. 203 

glory," thinking that, bad as he was, it would be next to cruel 
to inform him that I was cognizant of his deception ; but he 
referred to "his poem" so frequently, and even compared it 
with some which I was known to have written, so unfavorably to 
the latter, that I began to see that it would be impossible per- 
manently to hold my peace. Whenever he took up an exchange 
and found his (?) poem in it, he would modestly (?) say : 

"Ah, here's ' The Churl ' again! It's going the rounds. 
I knew it would when I wrote it." 

" Cranks," said I, turning from my writing-desk and gazing 
calmly upon that round face of his, " did it ever occur to you 
that there might possibly be some mystery about Miss Tree ? ' ' 

He was struck dumb. 

" Cranks," I continued, " it just happens that / wrote ' The 
Churl,' and a lady friend copied it for me and also, at my dic- 
tation, wrote that note signed ' Miss Tree.' I took that course 
in order that you might criticise it without knowing that it was 
mine, and so pass an impartial judgment upon it. But I never 
once expected that you would so ignore the beauties of entire 
originality as to pass it off for your own. ' ' 

He was almost paralyzed with chagrin and mortification ; 
for, debasing as it is to tell a lie, it is doubly so to be caught in 
it. His cold gray eyes opened wide, then nearly closed ; his 
face grew red all over, then turned pale, with a slightly greenish 
tinge ; and his whole countenance was one great round picture 
of crouching and cowering malevolence. He opened his 
mouth as if to speak ; but changed his mind, turned away with 
a mere grunt and a half-snappish air, bent over his table and 
pretended to write. He did n't speak to me again for two or 
three days, or look straight into my face for as many weeks ; 
and no reference was ever again made to the disagreeable 
matter either by myself or my wonderful partner. 



204 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE DENUNCIATOR." 

I HAVE some pleasant memories of San Francisco, if it 
was the scene of bitter trials and "hard luck." Some 
of the best friends of my whole life were found there ; and 
several faces in the "Bay City" have fixed themselves upon 
my heart — enduring rays of sunshine. The very thought of 
them is sufficient to cheer me a little when " things go wrong," 
and I am not in a buoyant mood. I often, too, recall the city 
and its surroundings, which are before me yet like a beautiful 
picture. I think of the cooling summer winds that sweep in 
from the Pacific, just without the Gate ; of the sweet air and 
spring-like skies that alternate with the innocent showers of the 
" rainy season " — the time of our freezing winters in the same 
latitude of the Atlantic slope and the Mississippi Valley; of 
the beautiful harbor, dotted with green islands and fringed with 
white sails; of Suncelito, blooming with strange wild flowers 
in December ; of Yerba Bueno ; of Alcatraz, standing up like 
a little Gibraltar out of the inland sea ; of the serene little city 
of Oakland, daily visible beyond the bay, with her thousand 
of spreading trees, her sweet gardens of flowers and vines, her 
many lovely homes ; of the ships gliding in and out through 
the Golden Gate — the great black steamers floating up to the 
wharf, with the news from the Orient and a thousand yellow 
Chinese ; of Telegraph Hill, to whose summit I have often 
climbed and looked down upon the face of the broad harbor, 
thinking of the bright future of San Francisco, and prophesy- 
ing how mighty her commerce must sooner or later be ; of the 
thronged streets of the Golden City, often in other days the 



the denunciator:' 205 

scene of violence and open murder, but now crowded with busy- 
people who swell the wealth of the State ; of the Twin Peaks, 
over toward the south, that rise up and look down upon the city 
and bay from a height of six hundred feet ; of the smooth road 
to the Cliff House, beaten by the thundering hoofs of fleet 
horses, followed by flying wheels; of "Seal Rock," standing 
up out of the water, barely away from the shore, that great 
mass of granite upon which the slimy seals glide up to bask in 
the sunshine and all day long utter their mournful howls ; of the 
smooth beach, beaten by ceaseless breakers that, with fringes of 
foam, roll in ever and ever from the wide, wide sea ; — think 
of these with that fondness and longing that nearly every 
one feels for our Pacific shores who has lived upon and left 
them. 

That Eminciator / I worked untiringly to build it up, to 
make it a power in the land; and for awhile, notwithstanding 
the difficulties that environed me, had a reasonable hope of 
ultimate success. But the millstone — Cranks — was tied 
about the neck of our journal, with a knot of more than Gordian 
intricacy, and the end was inevitable. 

Yet Cranks was not the only adverse element in and about 
the office of the Enunciator. The money receipts of a paper 
are its food and fuel, and it is all-important that its financial 
affairs should be carefully and correctly attended to. A portion 
of our business, including the collecting, was intrusted to 
another eccentric character, named Nathaniel Bumps, to whom 
we paid forty dollars a week for the exercise of his talents. 
Mr. Bumps was a clever business man, portly in form, shapely 
in face and feature, genial in disposition. He would have been 
a tower of strength in his department, but for one or two little 
shortcomings, the principal of which was that he did a little 
too much in the " genial " line. This fault, so far from growing 
18 



206 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

"small by degrees, and beautifully less," as I dared to hope it 
would, was deep-rooted, and rapidly assumed such healthy 
proportions as to make Mr. Bumps a reproach, rather than a 
credit, to the Enunciator. 

Nathaniel Bumps drank plain Bourbon whisky, in large 
quantities and at frequent intervals ; and such was his memory 
of things many times viewed, that he could have minutely 
described the fixtures and informed an anxious inquirer how 
many glass tumblers there were in each and every drinking- 
saloon in San Francisco. To say that he could at short notice 
recommend a friend to the particular saloons at which the best 
liquors were to be had, would be a work of supererogation. 

" Is there any place," the friend he met on the street would 
ask, looking about with a half-anxious expression of countenance, 
" any place around here where — " 

"O, yes!" Nathaniel Bumps would interrupt, — for "his 
heart too truly knew the sound full well," — " O, yes ! There 's 
Barry & Patten's, in Montgomery Street, where you get mighty 
fine whisky, but it 's a two-bit place ; and there 's Martin & 
Horton's, corner of Montgomery and Clay, their Bourbon is 
fine, and only a bit; and there's 'Dave's,' 613 Sacramento 
Street — he sets out a stavin' lunch, and has some fine rye that 
he got in last Saturday; and then there's Harris's Sample 
Rooms, in California Street, just below Montgomery; and 
there 's the Cosmopolitan, good whisky, either rye or Bourbon ; 
and I like the place because they set out thin glasses ! ' ' 

One Monday morning I sent him to Vallejo (a thriving little 
city across the bay, northward from San Francisco, and about 
thirty or forty miles distant) on business that ought to occupy 
about a whole day, but I did not expect him to return to the 
office before the following morning. Before going he said : 

" Confound the luck ! Last week, when I had most to do and 



THE "ENUiVCIATOR." 20J 

was most anxious to get through with it, I met a party of fellows 
that I could n't get away from, and now I 've got behindhand. 
I must make up for it this week. This thing of running around 
drinking is played out. I 'm going to quit it, right square ; and, 
by Jove, I '11 insult the first man that asks me to take a drink ! " 

I did not see him again till Saturday morning, when he came 
into the office — perfectly sober, it is true, but very nervous, 
and his face much "sun-burned." 

" Ughm ! " he said, rubbing his hands together uneasily, as 
he took a seat at his desk to give me a statement of his business 
transactions at Vallejo, — for I had the general care of the 
business department, while I at the same time did most of the 
editorial work, — " Ughm ! Oo-oo-oo-oo ! " — with a shudder; — 
"I don't feel very well this morning — haven't felt well for 
several days. I think it must have been the water at Vallejo." 

I was a trifle out of humor because he had remained away so 
long and neglected his duties in the city, but the implied 
proposition of Nathaniel Bumps deliberately drinking a glass 
of water struck me as being so exceptionally funny that I had to 
burst into a fit of laughter. I could n't help it. He looked up 
at me innocently, smiled a knowing smile, and went on with his 
work. [I knew myself that the Vallejo whisky was "horrible 
stuff."] 

But for the characteristic obstinacy of my partner — Cranks 
— who of course promptly opposed the proposition when I 
made it, I think I should have removed Mr. Bumps to some 
other sphere of usefulness long before the termination of the 
Enunciator' s career. Cranks himself fairly hated Bumps, but 
would have suffered anything (with the exception of Death) 
rather than consent to his dismissal, such dismissal being de- 
sired by his partner. So, I had to bear with the weaknesses 
of Nathaniel Bumps, while his sprees grew more and more fre- 



208 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

quent and extended, and the finances of the Enunciator grew 
more and more precarious. I finally got into the way of 
enduring all this with calm resignation, and ceased to be sur- 
prised, or even annoyed, if I sent Bumps out on Thursday or 
Friday to begin collecting in order to meet the usual demands 
of Saturday, — from three hundred to four hundred dollars, — 
and did n't see him again before the middle of the next week. 
That got to be an old thing. Any person with a good general 
idea of conducting a business of any kind will readily perceive 
how pernicious such a state of things must have been. 

In the latter days of the Enunciator, we had a general 
"streak of bad luck." In the language of Hamlet's mother, 

One woe doth tread upon another's heel, 
So fast they follow. 

We had correspondents in various parts of the State who 
occasionally sent us mining or agricultural news, and now and 
then brief accounts of anything remarkable — sometimes 
amusing — that might occur in their respective localities. On 
one occasion a correspondent at Marysville sent us an account 
of a ridiculous affair that occurred there — and it was published 
in the Enunciator. Briefly, it was to the effect that an Eng- 
lishman, representing himself as a nobleman, with the title of 
Sir William Ward, took rooms at an hotel and expressed a 
desire to spend a few days in gunning. He boasted so much, 
in so short a time, of his shooting, his wealth, his ancestry, 
and was in general so "airy," that some of the mischievous 
young men of the place conspired to make him the victim of a 
harmless practical joke. There was no such a thing as a wild 
duck in the neighborhood, but they told him that that species 
of game abounded in all directions, and arranged to guide him 
on the following day to a place where he might shoot a bagful 



THE " ENUNCIATOR." 20Q 

or two. Then they spent a part of the night in making a few 
wooden ducks, which they properly painted, ballasted and 
placed in a neighboring pond. Next day they led him to the 
spot and got him to banging away at the wooden images; 
although it was clear that had he been half the sportsman he 
pretended to be, he must have detected the trick at a glance. 
His disgust when he discovered the real state of things, and 
his prompt departure from Marysville, were humorously de- 
scribed by our correspondent, followed by a statement that 
" Ward " was discovered to be an impostor, — no nobleman at 
all, — and when I handed the manuscript to our Foreman there 
was certainly no shadow of a " monitor " within me to whisper 
that I was about to commit the " crime " of libel. 

I should never have given the subject a thought again, but 
for the fact that a few days after the publication of the corre- 
spondence a respectably-dressed Englishman, whom I had 
certainly never seen before, came into the orifice and called my 
attention to it. He stated that his name was William Ward ; 
that he was the person referred to in the communication ; that 
he was an Englishman by birth, but not a nobleman, and had 
not so represented himself ; that he had, come from Australia, 
where he had lived some years ; that he had been in California 
nearly five weeks ; and that he felt his reputation so much 
damaged by the publication of our Marysville correspondence 
that he must, in justice to himself, demand a pecuniary satis- 
faction ; although, to be sure, no conceivable amount of money 
could fully indemnify him. 

Cranks turned pale. 

I told "Mr. Ward" that I did not know him; that the 

article alluded to was sent by a correspondent ; that we had 

understood it to refer merely to some one traveling under a 

fictitious name and title ; and that certainly nothing could 

18* O 



210 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

have been more distant from our intentions than to libel any 
actual living human being; and, more for pastime than any- 
thing else, I asked him to what extent he believed his reputation 
to have been damaged by the publication of the correspondence 
in the Enunciator. 

He thought that ten thousand dollars, in gold, would make 
it about right, so far as money considerations went. 

Although highly amused, I suggested that there was such a 
thing as a street in San Francisco, and with an apprehension 
creditable to him, he took the hint and left. 

"Now, we're in a devil of a scrape ! " said Cranks, who, 
feeling that Death might after all be somewhat distant, began 
to recover from his fright, and at the same time to recover his 
normal condition of ill-nature. He had never uttered a word 
in the dreadful presence of " Sir William Ward." 

" It will amount to nothing," I replied, resuming my work. 
"A mere adventurer, I see plainly enough." 

On the following day, while I was making a canvass of 
the drinking-saloons, in search of Nathaniel Bumps, whom I 
had not seen since the middle of the previous week, when I 
had sent him out to collect three or four large bills, an officer 
of one of the courts entered our office and served a " process" 
on my partner as one of the defendants in a civil suit in which 
William Ward was the plaintiff; which of course alarmed 
Cranks very much, for, in his supreme ignorance of the law, 
how was he to know but that Death might somehow or other 
be mixed up with the matter ? 

Yes, (Sir) William Ward had employed a lawyer of the 
"shyster" school and entered suit for libel against the pro- 
prietors of the " Enuncierfor" laying his damages, with great 
accuracy, at ten thousand dollars. This man, it will be 
remembered, had been in the country about five weeks; yet 



THE DENUNCIATOR:' 211 

the publication of a humorous article in a weekly paper, with a 
circulation of less than four thousand copies, had damaged his 
reputation to the extent of ten thousand dollars ! I shudder to 
think what "his bill " might have been if he had lived in the 
United States a couple of years or so at the time the " libel " 
was published, and been established in a profitable business ! 
In another chapter I shall have something more to say of libel- 
suits and libel-laws ; but here is a simple statement of a case 
that speaks volumes. Mark the conclusion : After some delay, 
made necessary by the usual legal formalities, — I having mean- 
time engaged a lawyer to defend the .case to the last, giving him 
a retaining-fee of one hundred dollars, — this (Sir) William 
Ward intimated a willingness to make a new estimate of the 
value of his reputation, and thought he might fake fifty dollars 
as indemnity for the damage sustained, and " call it square ! " 

Now the galling part of it was, that during my absence from 
the office, Cranks, probably thinking that such a course might 
prevent a sudden termination of his life, and so defer the ap- 
proach of Death, signed an agreement to pay this amount, thus 
committing the firm to a compromise with the villainy of black- 
mailing ! In doing this, he was guilty of little less than a 
crime. It was compounding felony, and I would rather have 
emptied the already waning treasury of the Enunciator, in the 
way of costs, than to have seen rascality rewarded with even the 
pitiful sum of fifty dollars. However, we were now committed 
to it, and the money had to be paid. 

About this time a number of petty annoyances and losses 
were inflicted upon the Enunciator, and it seemed as if heaven 
and earth were conspiring with Cranks to "bust it up." A 
printers' strike, taken alone, would not have been such a serious 
matter, but of course it had to come right along with the series 
of other perplexities. Our compositors were very good work- 



212 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

men, and good fellows, too ; but they belonged to the Printers' 
Union, and had to strike along with the rest. In common with 
other publishers and employing printers, we declined to yield 
to their demands, and the result was the greatest difficulty in 
getting the Eminciator out, and even then it involved additional 
expense. One of "the boys," who little suspected the poor 
financial condition of the Enunciator, dropped in to pay me a 
friendly visit one day, his hands in his pockets and his Sunday 
suit on, and said, in the course of some conversation on the 
subject : 

"We all hated to strike, Mr. , and would have been 

willing to work on, so far as this office is concerned ; but we 
belong to the Union, and of course could n't help it." 

"Well, George," I replied, "you know very well that I have 
always been disposed to do full justice to the compositors, but 
I really do think the Union is asking too much. Have you 
any idea that your strike will succeed ? ' ' 

" Yes ; the boys all think it will. Don't you think so? " 

"No, sir-ree, George," I replied, emphatically; "no use 
contending against capital/ " 

I put on a very grave look when I said this, and George sat 
in thoughtful silence, not suspecting that I could scarcely re- 
strain a burst of laughter at the idea of having classed myself 
with the capitalist, when there was not a printer recently in 
our employ half so poor as the proprietors of the Enunciator. 

I think that one of the saddest things in the experience of 
the printer and newspaper publisher is the "piing" of a form. 
What printers call a "form" is, for example, the type, prop- 
erly set up and arranged in final order, from which one whole 
page (or it might be two) of a newspaper is to be printed. 
This is "locked up" — if I say "wedged," I will be better 
understood — in what is called a "chase." The chase is a 



THE " ENUNCIATORr 213 

square iron frame, something like a window-sash with all the 
glass and cross-pieces removed. The chase lies on a large 
table, about three and a half or four feet high, whose top is a 
smooth slab of stone • (or iron), called an imposing-stone. 
Within this chase the columns of type are placed by the fore- 
man, or assistant foreman, which operation is styled "making 
up." But the form does not quite fill out the chase, and in 
the crevices at the bottom and one side are placed what are 
called "side-stick " and " foot-stick," and between these and 
the iron frame of the chase the foreman, with his mallet and 
shooting-stick, drives square and slightly tapering sticks of wood 
a couple of inches in length, and these are called quoins. They 
are driven in tight, causing a pressure upon the types from all 
sides calculated to hold them so firmly in their places that the 
whole mass may be lifted and carried to the press, which is 
often out of, and whole squares distant from, the building in 
which the composing-room is situated. 

It will be readily understood that it is important to " handle 
with care ' ' this heavy mass of type, weighing, say two hundred 
pounds, for the form cannot be so firmly locked but that a 
sudden shock may start the types from their places and cause 
the whole mass to crumble into a disorderly heap. Such a 
calamity, which sometimes occurs, is called "piing a form," 
and the scattered type is called "pi." So careful was I to pre- 
vent such an occurrence, that late on many a Saturday night I have 
stood by the hand-cart that waited at the door, with a revolver in 
my pocket, to guard one inside form that had been carried down 
and placed therein to be conveyed to press, while the strong 
man made a second journey up-stairs for the other. I thought 
this precaution necessary because reckless revelers were in the 
streets all night, and many of them would not have hesitated to 
"pi" a form — not through ill-will toward the Enunciator, bui 



214 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

merely " for fan." One Saturday night, or rather Sunday morn- 
ing, — for it was past two o'clock, — I had the good fortune to 
prevent this piece of innocent sport. A party of four or five 
bacchanalians came reeling along, and one of them said, " Hello. 
Let's upset this old cart." He led the way, and the others 
gathered around to assist in his laudable undertaking. I did 
not like, if I could help it, to " commence shootin,' " as Arfce- 
mus Ward says in his account of desperado life in Nevada, so I 
merel3 7 sung out, with my hand none the less on my revoh 
" O, say — by the way — is that you, Charlie ? ' ' 
They hesitated. The name of one of them did happen to 
be Charlie, and of course, thinking I must be some one he knew 
— . 1 was standing in the shadow of the door-way, and the night 
was dark — he replied : 
"Yes; is that you?" 

"Yes. Don't disturb that cart, please; there is something 
in it that belongs to me." 

" O, all right," was the reply; and as they walked away he 
added : " Won't you go up to the corner and take a drink ? " 

"No, thank you," I replied. "I'm waiting here for a 
man." 

So, the whole party retired, and I had saved my form without 
resorting to the taking of human life. 

But, in the days of its waning fortunes, the Enunciator did 
not escape the disaster of a " pied form," although in the pride 
of its strength, when it might have laughed at such a mishz; 
had enjoyed a wonderful immunity therefrom. The paper con- 
tained thirty-six columns, each thirty inches in length ; and it 
will be seen that the piing of one of its forms, of nine colu:: 
was not calculated to excite much mirth on the part of those, 
editors and printers, who had labored so carefully to get the 
matter up. 



THE DENUNCIATOR." 21 5 

It was one rainy Saturday night — that is, Sunday morning, 
after two o'clock, when my weary week's work was done. The 
strong man had taken the first form (page two, editorial) from 
the imposing-stone and was beginning slowly and carefully to 
descend the flight of stairs from the third floor, on which our 
editorial- and composing-rooms were, and I was sitting on a 
corner of my writing-table, on the eve of lighting a cigar be- 
fore following him down to the street to watch it while he 
should come up for the other inside form, — the two outside 
pages having been already printed, — and Cranks sat in an arm- 
chair, scowling at me (because I was his partner) through a 
dense cloud of smoke which he drew from a strong pipe, and sent 
out into the air ; when we were startled by a thump — a rum- 
bling sound — a loud crash — a continuous rattle and uproar, 
accompanied by a perceptible trembling of the floor and quiver- 
ing of the walls. 

An earthquake was of course the first thing to be thought of, 
as we used to have one of more or less vigor every week or two 
in San Francisco and its vicinity ; and Cranks, thinking that 
he might be in the immediate presence of Death, shouted, " O, 
Lord ! " dropped his pipe, scattering sparks and ashes in even- 
direction, sprang up and flew wildly out of the room. I ex- 
pected to hear him tumbling down stairs, as I had heard him 
several times before when the building was " shaken up " by a 
harmless earthquake, but I was disappointed this time. I was 
still waiting for the brimstone to burn off the match with which 
I was about to light my cigar, when he came back to the door, 
having merely taken a few steps in the hall, which was well 
lighted with gas, and said : 

" O ! — just — come — here ! " 

I shall never forget how Cranks looked at that moment. 
His thick form appeared shorter than usual, probably being 



2l6 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

slightly bent with fright ; his hat had fallen off, and in the gas- 
light the bald top of his head glittered and shone in a wild fan- 
tastic way j what hair he had growing around the sides of his 
head was all disordered, and actually stood out in every di- 
rection, 

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine ; 

and on his distorted face, now about the color of pure hickory- 
ashes, there was such a look of consternation and despair as 
really startled me. I began to think that the universe had 
collapsed, that he had just got the news, and that we were on 
the eve of 

The wreck of matter and the crush of worlds. 

It was "the wreck of matter" only; for when I went out 
into the hall and looked down the stairway, I saw that the form 
of our editorial page was "pied." 

"O, piteous spectacle!" The types, the spaces, the em- 
quads, the two-em quads, the leads, the rules, the quoins, 
the reglets, the side-stick, the foot-stick, the furniture, were 
scattered in awful confusion from stair to stair, from the 
top to the bottom of the flight; and at the foot of the 
stairs, to which he had tumbled, the strong man was in the act 
of struggling to his feet, with the empty chase — which now 
looked nearly as interesting as a second-hand picture- frame with 
no picture in it — around his neck, like a horse's collar, though 
it did not make nearly so neat a fit. There were horror and 
anguish on the poor fellow's face as he looked up at me and 
said: 

"Why, 'pon my word! I — I — didn't — mean to do it! 
I slipped! " 

Heaven knows that I did not suspect him of having done it 
purposely, and for the moment I forgot my own misfortune in 



THE DENUNCIATORS 2\J 

pity for him, especially as I noticed the blood trickling from 
his forehead, just over the right eye, and I said: 

" O, that's nothing." [Such a lie!] "Did you get hurt, 
Dennis?" 

" Nothin' but a bruise or two," he replied, rubbing his 
elbow, and nose, and forehead. 

"Well, accidents will happen," I said, although I never 
before so sincerely wished they wouldn't. "There's two 
bits," — and I tossed him a silver quarter, — "go up to 
George's at the corner, and get a drink of good brandy." 

The fact is, I feared he might be injured internally, and, as 
he had a large family, I should have felt conscience-stricken if 
he had died in my service at a time when I was unable to give 
his widow a pension. He picked up the bit of silver, and 
started for that " corner " that was "open all night," and when 
he returned, I was glad to note that he looked much better. 
Meantime, Cranks and I, assisted by a compositor who had not 
yet gone home, proceeded to gather up the scattered type, for 
it was worth a hundred dollars or so, and we had no notion of 
allowing it to assume the attitude of rubbish. 

Yes, it was sad. Nine columns — two hundred and seventy 
inches — twenty-two and a half feet of type, in lines of two 
and a quarter inches in measure — all wrecked — all our articles 
gone — my editorial carefully prepared with reference to statis- 
tics of the mining and agricultural products of the State — an 
unusually fine poem — a pathetic appeal to harsh parents — a 
peculiarly sarcastic hit at some abuses in the city govern- 
ment — all gone, gone, gone. If I had been "given to the 
melting mood," I never could have found an occasion more 
fitting. 

What was to be done? We could not think of issuing our 
paper with one page blank. Well, I went and woke up Mr, 
19 



2l8 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

P , one of the proprietors of the daily Bulletin, and, telling 



him what had happened, asked him if he would be kind enough 
to allow us to use one of the forms of his Saturday evening 
issue in the place of our pied one. He said " Certainly," 
although he and I had given each other more than one "rap " 
in our respective papers. The fact is, there is no finer sense 
of courtesy anywhere than that existing among members of the 
newspaper fraternity ; and I believe I never yet saw an editor 
or proprietor of a paper but would lend matter, his press and 
everything to his worst enemy in the profession in cases of 
terrible exigency like this. So we took out one small paragraph 
from the form of our third page, and inserted a few lines in 
bold letters, explaining what had happened, and so accounting 
for the ' ' eccentric appearance ' ' of the second page of the 
Enunciator — gladly giving credit to the Bulletin for helping 
us out. 

I have mentioned elsewhere in this volume that editors are 
disposed to be generous, and I have seldom. seen any who were 
otherwise. Horace Greeley, whom I so frequently have occa- 
sion to mention in speaking of editors, was noted for his 
generosity, although he was no doubt often imposed upon. He 
says, in his "Recollections of a Busy Life," something like 
this: "I have invested largely in human nature, and I lament 
my loss of confidence in it more than my loss of money." 
Indeed, it would be strange if intellectual men did not possess 
the highest share of noble qualities, among which is pity for 
the distressed, coupled with an impulse to aid them. I hate to 
say that I ever did any one a kindness ; but if I did, it was 
through selfishness after all, for, if one takes pleasure in doing 
an act of any kind, I do not see that he is entitled to a great 
amount of credit for it. But it is to illustrate how what is 
called generosity is sometimes — shall I say often? — rewarded, 



the denunciator:' 219 

that I introduce the subject here ; and it has also a bearing 
upon the falling fortunes of the Enwiciator. 

A man named Jordan, with but one arm, came into our office, 
one day, and Cranks, my evil genius, introduced him to me as 
an old newspaper-carrier. I asked him what he was engaged 
at now, and he said " Nothing." He had recently been en- 
gaged in the Post-office as a letter-carrier, but owing to ill- 
health had been obliged to give it up a few months previously, 
and now must wait for his turn to get on the list again. It was 
very natural for me to ask him "how he was fixed." Could 
he live comfortably awhile without employment? 

No. He had very little money left ; doctors' bills, you know, 
and — 

I thought awhile, then said : 

"■ There is a carrier on the Enunciator who owns a route and 
wants to dispose of it. He would sell it for a hundred dollars 
or so. Probably you have n't the means to buy it ? " 

" No — not quarter enough." 

" Would you like paper-carrying again ? " 

" O, yes; anything for the sake of employment." 

I liked his frank manner and honest appearance, and I pon- 
dered a few seconds and said to Cranks : 

" Suppose we should buy the route of the carrier and let Mr. 
Jordan run it ? " 

To my astonishment, Cranks readily assented to my proposi- 
tion, a thing he had never done before. 

" Very well. Will you take hold of it, Mr. Jordan ? " 

"O, yes! " he said, joyfully. "But how about paying for 
my papers ? ' ' 

" That will be all right. You need not pay us for any 
papers till the end of the first month, when you do your col- 
lecting. That will be giving you a good chance. We usually 



220 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

require security in a case like this, but I won't from you, Mr. 
Jordan. I think I know an honest man when I see one. ' ' 

So, I bought the route of the other carrier, and, while re- 
taining its ownership, gave it trustingly into the charge of Jor- 
dan. He came and got his papers every Sunday morning, 
bright and cheerful, and for weeks nothing happened, except 
that he borrowed ten dollars of me — Cranks having assured 
me that he was perfectly reliable. A month went by, and he 
did not pay any money, or say anything about it. Six weeks, 
and I ventured — very gently — to ask him, one day, if he had 
been collecting yet. No, he had n't. He had been busy can- 
vassing his route, and was going to add a couple of hundred 
subscribers to his list. He would collect in another week. 
Two or three weeks went by, and he deliberately abandoned 
his route and absconded, owing us three hundred dollars. 
Before abandoning, he carefully collected every cent due from 
subscribers on his route. I afterward learned that, instead of 
having left the Post-office on account of ill-health, he had been 
discharged therefrom for a very sufficient reason, and, what may 
seem on the verge of the unfathomable, my partner knew it ! 

I have been " taken in " as badly as that more than once, — 
although such experience, I trust, will never make me an aban- 
doned cynic, — and another notable instance occurred while I 
was one of the proprietors of the Enunciator. I subsequently 
wrote an account of it (in the form of a sketch that might be 
taken for an imaginary one) for Saturday Night, — accurate in 
every particular, except in the matter of names, — and, with the 
permission of the proprietors of that paper, to whom the sketch 
now belongs, I make it the sum and substance of the next 
chapter. 



"MY FRIEND GEORGE." 221 

CHAPTER XXV. 

" MY FRIEND GEORGE." 

[From "Saturday Night," April 26, 1873.] 

IN the spring of 18 — , I went to California by steamer. A couple of 
days after sailing, when I had about recovered, I was sitting on the 
hurricane-deck, looking down into the blue sea. Another passenger sat at 
my elbow, on the same long seat by the railing, and he said to me : 

" I 've been trying to think where I 've seen you ? " 

His own face was not unfamiliar. 

" I cannot say. Where do you hail from ? " I asked. 

" Philadelphia." 

" I, too, have resided there for some years," 

" I thought so. O, yes ; now that I come to think, I remember where I 

saw you. If I mistake not, you were a party in the B libel case. I was 

a witness." 

And he informed me what my name was. 

" Correct. Let me see — your name is — " 

" Miller — George Miller." 

I rather liked him. 

He was five feet seven inches high, and weighed a hundred and thirty- 
five pounds. He was not fleshy, but rather muscular. His face, especially, 
which was characterized by prominent cheek-bones, in marked contrast with 
a narrow chin, was not burdened by an undue amount of flesh. He had 
black, curly hair, gray eyes, a nose prominent at the bridge, and a sparse 
mustache. His age was thirty. He was affable. 

During the voyage our acquaintance ripened into a friendly intimacy. 
He was a good fellow, with a fair sense of humor, and his ways were frank 
and open — almost boyish. At Aspinwall his pocket was picked of three 
hundred dollars — all he had. But I assisted him in various ways and 
made it as comfortable as possible for him. I little thought then that I 
should ever find it come in my way to employ him as a detective. 

George had left his wife in Philadelphia, — she was an estimable little 
Quakeress, only twenty, as I subsequently ascertained, — and was going to 
19 * 



222 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

California to build up his fortunes there, and then send for her. He had 
been unfortunate in business. He possessed more than ordinary qualifi- 
cations for a mercantile calling, and on arriving at San Francisco he tried 
hard to get a situation as book-keeper. But just at that time San Francisco 
was flooded with persons seeking employment, and it was about as difficult 
to procure a very desirable and remunerative position as it was to become a 
member of Congress. So, with willing hands, George did the next best 
thing — he took a position as conductor on a street-car, and was thus 
employed, by spells, for a year or two. At times, he even acted as driver. 

I saw him often, and occasionally got on his car, at his cordial request, 
and took a ride with him to the terminus of the line and back. He was 
always lively and cheerful. I felt pained when I looked at his good-natured, 
sun-browned face, and meditated that he was fitted for a higher sphere. He 
told me that he was laying by money, and would send for his little wife 
some day. But poor George had a weakness — one that has afflicted many 
an intellectual, high-minded, honorable man. 

He drank. 

At times he drank to excess, to the end that his employers' interests were 
prejudiced. He was, therefore, discharged several times; but recovered 
his position each time, after an interval, because he was a good fellow - — 
and promised to be, But by-and-by he was dismissed for good, on account 
of drinking an unusual quantity, and failed to get a place on the road again, 
either as conductor or driver. Then he "straightened up," and remained 
idle a good while, but ultimately secured a position as driver on a line of 
horse-cars just established in the pleasant little city of Oakland, over the 
bay. 

He didn't "drink a drop" for some time, and I entertained pleasing 
hopes for his future. But at last he took to it again, with unusual avidity, 
and lost his situation in Oakland. He then returned to San Francisco, and 
sought employment for months. 

Meantime I was editing a weekly newspaper, in which I had purchased 
an interest, and George often called on me at our sanctum — sometimes 
perfectly sober. I bestowed frequent little favors, and exerted myself to 
procure employment for him. Poor fellow, I did pity him ! 

By-and-by I thought I could make room for a clerk in our office, and 
sought George, but could not find him. A note addressed to him and 
dropped into the Post-office, did not bring him to light, although he was in 



" MY FRIEXD GEORGE." 227, 

the habit of calling regularly at the "general-delivery" window for his 
letters. He was absent from the city. A few weeks later, when he turned 
up again, I had occasion to employ him in an entirely different capacity. I 
will tell how it was : 

I had missed several pairs of scissors, — an indispensable article in an 
editor's office, — and I bought a new and rather costly pair, which I locked 
up in a drawer of my writing-table. One morning they were gone ! I had 
certainly left them in my drawer, as usual. I asked my associate if he had 
seen them, also our business man, who was in the same room. They had 
not. I deemed the occasion a fitting one for profanity. My partner and 
our business man both laughed at me, and so I laughed, too, and pretended 
that I was n't much annoyed. 

"There has been a thief about," said I, "for I perceive that strange 
hands have been in my drawer, although I found it locked." 

"That 's singular," said my partner. 

" Oh, by the way ! " said our business man, placing a pen behind his ear, 
" Ivlr. Bartlett told me that some things had been stolen from his office. 
The same thief may have been up here." 

Mr. Bartlett was a lawyer, whose offices were on the floor beneath our 
office and composing-room. To reach our floor it was necessary to ascend 
two flights of stairs, passing Mr. Bartlett's doors in the corridor of the second 
floor. 

" Where is my Shakespeare ? " asked my partner, abruptly. 

" I have not seen it." 

" Nor I." 

He searched everywhere. It was gone ! 

" I would n't lose that book for fifty dollars ! I 've had it twenty years ! " 
he said, vehemently. 

Then he swore and / laughed. 

But further discoveries followed. Several other books were missing — 
Byron, Moore, Burns, and a dictionary of authors. 

" Why, the thief has carried off an arm-load ! " exclaimed the business 
man. 

The deed had evidently been done during the previous night, and, sin- 
gularly enough, the intruder had locked the doors after him, and left every- 
thing in an orderly condition — except what he had not left at all. A week 
passed, and our nocturnal friend remembered us again. A " Webster's Un- 



224 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

abridged Dictionary," " Homer's Iliad," and several other valuable works 
disappeared. More articles had also been conveyed from Mr. Bartlett's 
law-offices. The thief had locked the doors after him, and, to his credit, 
left everything tidy. 

We raved, and called in a detective. 

" Have you any suspicions ? " he asked. 

" Yes ; we discharged a carrier, not long ago — a worthless fellow, named 
Jordan, whom we had found both unreliable and dishonest. We have pub- 
lished a notice warning the public that he no longer transacts any business 
for us, and now he is evidently having his revenge. These thefts are 
plainly committed by some one familiar with the building. I consider it 
next to certain that he is the thief." 

This positive opinion I delivered to the detective, who started on the 
suspected person's track. He found him in his own lodgings, in a disrepu- 
table quarter of the city, but no clue. Nevertheless he acted as his shadow 
for awhile. 

Another week and another robbery ! More books, some umbrellas and 
other things went. Mr. Bartlett lost more law-books, a meerschaum pipe, 
some postage-stamps and stamped envelopes. It was the same neat kind 
of burglary. It began to look like a mystery. 

Half a week, and another visit from the thief. A large volume, entitled 
" Historical Miscellany," and some other valuable works of reference dis- 
appeared. The poets had already been exhausted. A gold pen, some 
keys, an ebony ruler, and some other useful articles, went the way of the 
books. All the drawers in the establishment had been unlocked, investi- 
gated and locked up again. 

A couple of days, then another visit from the thief. We told the detective. 
He said it was n't Jordan. Still, I thought it must be. He asked who else 
would come within the range of suspicion. I told him we had implicit 
confidence in all our employes. He shook his head wisely, and noted 
their names and residences. 

That night our clock was stolen, and — yes, incredible as it may seem — 
we discovered that the thief had actually made him a bed of old newspapers 
in a back room we did not use much, and slept ! Such audacity was some- 
thing new and novel in the annals of crime. Clearly he was not averse to 
a-rest. 

Who could it be ? We began to suspect all our employes, one by one, 



« MY FRIEND GEORGE." 225 

from the foreman down to the devil; and I fancied I could see each one in 
his turn put on a decidedly guilty look. I even went so far as to suspect 
our exemplary business man ; nay, I even wondered if it might not be 
my partner, suffering from kleptomania; and I verily believe he half sus- 
pected me. 

The thief came oftener and oftener — almost every night — and got into 
the habit, not only of sleeping regularly in our vacant room, but also of 
making his toilet there, finding a place for his comb on the window-ledge, 
and leaving off, in a corner, his soiled collars and worn-out neckties. Once 
he left a shirt that had been worn since washed, though not worn out, and 
it would scarcely have surprised me now if his washerwoman had called 
for it. It was bewildering. 

My partner and I took tm - ns sitting up in the corridor whole nights on 
guard. I sat there many a night in the dampness and gloom, with my re- 
volver in my hand, momentarily expecting to hear the sly footfall of the 
thief on the stairs. 

But he came not. 

No sooner did we relax our vigilance, however, than another visit hon- 
ored our absence ; another night's repose was enjoyed in the vacant room ; 
and another invoice of useful articles walked off — among them our busi- 
ness man's meerschaum pipe, which he highly prized. The detective said 
it must be the Chinese ; for they are sly, crafty, and very immoral. 

I had told George all about it, and one morning, when I met him on 
the street, it occurred to me that here was a chance to do him a good 
turn. 

" George," I said, " I am fairly worn out watching for that sneaking thief, 
and so is my partner. We cannot lose half our night's rest and perform 
our daily duties besides. You are not doing anything ; now, suppose you 
watch for the rascal a few nights. I will give you two dollars and a half 
per night." 

" All right ! " he said, eagerly. 

The poor fellow was delighted with the temporary employment, and 
was duly installed as watchman. I employed him eight nights, and paid 
him twenty dollars. 

But the thief came not. 

Then I told him he need not watch any more, as the robber had prob- 
ably left the city, or been caught up on some other charge. Besides, he 

P 



226 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

had already carried off nearly all our " portable property," and probably 
would never come again. 

But he did come on two different nights after that, took some things, went 
to bed in the vacant room, rose with the lark, and we saw him not. He 
was a dark, mocking mystery, — an invisible presence floating in the air, — 
and I felt a half-superstitious thrill crawling clammily down my spinal col- 
umn. I had heard of such things as spirits. A feeling of helpless resigna- 
tion took possession of us, and we began to feel as though everything in our 
office belonged to that thief, and that we were merely employed there, tem- 
porarily, to furnish him with things to carry off. Who should say but that 
he might eventually turn us out, and run the whole thing himself? He al- 
ready possessed a controlling interest. But — 

" Good-morning ! " said Mr. Bartlett, as he bolted into our office one day. 
"I have a clue ! " 

" What ! " 

We sprang to our feet. Was he mortal, after all ? 

"You know," said Mr. Bartlett, "that I told you some stamped envel- 
opes were stolen from me. Well, on each envelope were printed the 
words, ' If not called for, return to C. Bartlett, San Francisco.' The thief 
has been stupid enough to use these envelopes in corresponding with his 
friends; two of them have not been called for, and, thanks to an excellent 
postal system, duly returned to me. Here are the letters, signed with the 
full name, without doubt, of the thief himself. A good hand he writes, 
truly." 

"Who — who is it?" I asked, breathlessly. 

" Some one whom I do not know. I have brought up the letters to see 
if you happen to know the writer. Here they are." 

I opened one of the letters, while my partner took the other, and my eye 
quickly sought the signature. Heavens ! My brain grew dizzy? Was I 
dreaming ? The neat autograph was that of my friend George ! The letter 
was written in his own faultless hand, and boldly signed, " George Miller." 
I was fairly stunned. 

" Do you know him? " asked Mr. Bartlett. 

"I know him well," I replied. " This is his writing — his signature; 
but he is the last person in the world whom I could have suspected of dis- 
honesty ! " 

" Where may he be found ? " 



"MY FR1EXD GEORGE." 22J 

"I do not know where he lodges at present; but I meet him almost 
every day." 

" He must be arrested." 

" But do you consider this conclusive evidence?" 

" Unless he can give some plausible explanation as to how he came by 
these envelopes. I have already found some of the books that were stolen 
from me. The thief had sold them at a book-stand in Leidesdorff Street. 
The dealer says he would know the man he bought them of. Besides, if 
this Miller is the guilty party, it will soon be apparent when he is arrested. 
Are you willing to assist me ? " 

" Yes — if it were my brother ! I can scarcely dare to think him guilty, 
but if he is, he is the most heartless ingrate and deceitful rogue that ever 
lived ! Meeting me daily, face to face, with cordial words of greeting, and 
stealing from me at night. I cannot believe it ! He is above such deeds — 
incapable of such duplicity. Nevertheless, I shall assist you in accom- 
plishing his arrest, then let the truth be unfolded, be it palatable or not." 

The evidence, though purely circumstantial, was almost convincing, and 
during that whole day my troubled thoughts ran on the subject. At times 
I concluded that it was a plain case; then again drove the thought from me, 
vowing that it was simply impossible that my friend George could be a 
thief! In the course of the day it occurred to me that some traces of the 
thief might be found in the vacant room in which he had slept night after 
night with such nonchalance. I repaired to that room, and among the dis- 
ordered newspapers I caught sight of one that was not a copy of our own 
paper, neither was it one of our exchanges; and its irregular creases indi- 
cated that a bundle had been wrapped in it. I seized it eagerly, and on the 
margin found, plainly written in his own handwriting, the name of George 
Miller — my friend George! 

It must be so; if I were neither dreaming nor insane, my friend was a 
thief! Yes, and worse than a thief — a dissembling, ungrateful wretch, who 
had at the midnight hour invaded the premises and pilfered the property of 
one whose hand had fed him when his prodigal ways had reduced him to 
penury ! And I asked myself: "Was there ever anything like it?" 

Next morning I met George on the street. He was smiling and good- 
natured as ever, and not a shade of deceit or uneasiness crossed his counte- 
nance. Then I said to myself: " It is preposterous ! " But I remembered 
the crushing evidence already in my possession, and resolved to keep the 



228 SECRETS OE THE SANCTUM. 

promise I had made Mr. Bartlett. I spoke pleasantly as usual to George, 
though with a painful effort, and asked him if he had any prospect yet. He 
little imagined that I had in my pocket then a bit of circumstantial evidence 
that would go a long way toward surrounding him with the dismal walls 
that sometimes do stand between evil-doers and society. I had to act a de- 
ceitful part, and it wrung my heart to do so; but I remembered that, if he 
indeed were guilty, he was, and had been for a long time, acting a far more 
deceitful part with me. 

" George," said I, "if you have not struck a job yet, call and see me at 
the office at five o'clock this afternoon. I have a good deal to attend to to- 
day, but shall be at leisure by five. I want to consult you about an im- 
portant matter; but, remember, I can't promise that it will prove to be of 
any great advantage to you. Can you come? " 

" Certainly ! What time — five ? " 

" Yes — five, sharp." 

"All right; I'll be on time." 

I knew he would, for he ever evinced a marked fondness for my poor 
society. I next called at the police-office, saw my detective, and informed 
him of the astounding discoveries I had made, and of the engagement at 
five o'clock, and he promised to be punctually on hand. 

The hours passed along, and as five o'clock approached, my detective 
and one of his sagacious colleagues came in. My partner and the business 
man were present, and Mr. Bartlett also came in, making a party of six. 
One more was required to make up the magic number. We were all 
seated ; it wanted five minutes of five. 

Footsteps were heard ascending the lower flight of stairs. 

" How shall we know him? It might be some one else," suggested one 
of the detectives. 

" If it is any one else, I will introduce him; if it is he, I will not. It 
may be that I have introduced him to too many already." 

" If it should be a stranger? " 

" You would know that by his actions." 

" Yes, of course." 

The footsteps were heard on the second flight of stairs ; then in the cor- 
ridor between our office and the vacant room. In another moment the 
door opened, and my friend George walked in. 

He half-hesitated, and cast a curious glance at the strangers. 



" MY FRIEND GEORGE." 229 

" Well, George," said I, " you 're in time." 

"Yes." 

"Take a seat." 

I did not introduce him. 

An awkward silence ensued — a painful silence, during which I could 
hear the beating of my own heart. Probably ten seconds had elapsed, 
when the silence was broken by one of the detectives, who coolly said : 

" I believe you are the man we wanted to see. Come and go round to 
the office with us." 

"What! the police-office?" quickly responded George, — no longer My 
Friend George, — whose guilty soul now looked forth from every feature 
of his face, as though a mask had suddenly dropped. 

He comprehended in an instant that his guilt had been discovered, and 
without another word arose from his seat and meekly accompanied the 
detectives, who walked on either side of him. His whole bearing suddenly 
changed to that of a coward and sneak, and I fancied that I could see his 
very form and figure shrink materially in dimensions. It would have been 
an appropriate moment for a yawning chasm to open in the earth, swallow 
him up and hide him from the sight of men. 

Yes, George was the thief, and fancy my pain and mortification as the 
dreadful truth became too apparent. He whom I had looked upon almost 
with affection ; whom I had regarded as a man of honor and culture, with 
but barely one little failing; whom I had introduced to scores of my 
friends, recommending him as a sagacious business man, and a perfectly 
trustworthy gentleman — he, after all, a petty thief! It touches my sensi- 
bilities to this day to think of it. 

George was taken to the chief's office, questioned and searched. He 
doggedly denied his guilt, but made enough conflicting and utterly irre- 
concilable statements to convict a regiment of thieves. In his pockets were 
found the key of Mr. Bartlett's desk — which happened to fit my drawer — 
and a number of otheV keys, which it was found on investigation would 
open all the doors and drawers in the building. He had still in his pocket 
some of Mr. Bartlett's " return " envelopes, and some other little articles 
stolen from his and our offices. He was also brought face to face with the 
proprietor of the book-stand, who clearly recognized him as the man who 
had sold him a number of Mr. Bartlett's law-books. In the face of all 
this, and other overpowering evidence, he persisted in denying his guilt, 
20 



23O SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

piling lie on top of lie, and stupidly contradicting himself, till it would 
have been a waste of time and an insult to common sense to pursue the 
investigation further. He was mercifully prosecuted — by Mr. Bartlett 
only — on a charge of petty larceny, and the judge of the police court, 
remarking that it was the clearest case in the world, sentenced him to three 
months' imprisonment. 

I should not neglect to say that I visited him twice in the station-house 
before his trial in the police-court, when he sullenly denied his guilt, lying 
with a rapid tongue and a shockingly bad memory. I have never seen 
him since. 

I subsequently learned that his invasion of our office was not his first 
crime. Parties who knew him told me of a score of his misdeeds, equally 
infamous. He had forged a check in New York before I ever saw him; 
he had stolen several watches, and borrowed others without returning 
them ; he had obtained money by false pretenses ; he had been guilty, 
time and again, of low tricks and petty subterfuges to cheat the confiding ; 
he had rewarded numerous favors with the basest treachery; and he 
kindly remembered one man who had sheltered and fed him several weeks 
by decamping, between two days, from the hospitable roof, and carrying 
with him his benefactor's watch, money and clothing. To crown all, he 
had not journeyed to California so much to build up his fortunes as to 
escape the clutches of the law, which sorely threatened him in Philadel- 
phia for a piece of rare rascality ! 

Thus abruptly terminated a " friendship " that I had fostered for three 
years; during which time, with all my fancied sagacity in the matter of 
peering down into the depths of a human heart, I had failed to discover, 
or even suspect, the true character of this brazen dissembler. 



THE BORE. 23I 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE BORE. 

IF there is one annoyance more than another to which editors 
of newspapers are subjected, it is the Bore ; if the Bore 
afflicts one class more than another it is the Editor. Yet, of 
all men who ought not to be bothered when they are at their 
work, the Editor stands first. The Editor of a newspaper — 
particularly of a daily — has much peremptory work to do, and 
very often cannot afford to spare one minute of his time. His 
work is imperative, and if he neglects it for a period of anything 
like five minutes, he must work to the verge of intense straining 
for the next thirty or sixty minutes to make up for the lost time. 
You may drop in and talk to a man engaged in manual labor, 
and not seriously interrupt him ; you cannot do so with the 
Editor. He works with his mind ; you take his attention, you 
occupy his mind, you irritate that mind, you "bore" it, and 
for the time he is powerless. Suppose you should go into a 
carriage- maker's shop, find hirn hurrying to have a certain 
wheel done by five o'clock, and suppose you should constantly 
pick up his tools, as he lays them down for a moment at a time, 
so that when he reaches for them he does not find them, but 
must drop his work and go to hunting for them — suppose all 
this : how would he get along ? How would he like it ? Well, 
you commit no less a breach of decorum when you go into a 
sanctum and "bore" the Editor when he is at his hard, hard 
work. His tools are his brain faculties, and when you occupy 
them you take his tools, and, as it were, scatter them around 
over the room. To do this wittingly, even for one minute, 
during an editor's working-hours, is little less than a crime. 



2J2 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

I was once, with a couple of assistants, conducting a small 
daily, when time and again a really very good-hearted gentle- 
man, little realizing the enormity of his conduct, came in 
during busy hours, sat down, and talked, and talked, and talked, 
almost by the hour, and even took up exchanges and read aloud 
therefrom multitudes of stale paragraphs, often when I was 
"hurried to death," and when I was "cudgeling" my dizzy 
brain over a piece of unusually cabalistic manifold copy, 
or straining my whole intellect in wild endeavors to penetrate 
the mazes of an " out." This I endured many and many a day 
because I could not find it in my heart (although many an edi- 
tor could very soon have succeeded in finding it in his) to hurt 
the innocent man's feelings by putting a sacred truth in some 
such shape as this : " I 'd be very much obliged to you if you 
wouldn't interrupt me while I am at work," He did not 
understand the case ; he meant well enough, and he would to- 
day be shocked if he knew how much he used to annoy me. 

Bores do afflict every paper, more or less. The highest- 
toned New York daily is not free from them. Why, many a 
time the door of the editorial-room of such a paper as the New 
York Herald, World, Tribune, 'Times, or Sun has opened, and 
a country subscriber has stalked in and sat down to "have a 
chat" with the Editor. In such newspaper establishments as 
these, however, measures are generally taken to guard against 
promiscuous intrusion. But even the most stately newspaper 
has its Bores. If measures are taken to exclude "Tom, 
Dick and Harry," the Bore enters in the person of some 
loftier being — something that towers above "the m;. 
Influential men — Governors — Members of Congress — Mayors 
of Cities — "eminent divines" — all come in occasionally 
when they are not wanted, although it is generally because tl 
don't understand the situation. I have more than once had a 



THE BORE. 233 

United States Senator, Member of the House of Representatives, 
Governor of a State, or Mayor of a City " drop in" on me at 
a busy time, when I would much rather have seen the telegraph 
messenger, or the devil from the composing-room. To set 
aside all possibilities of doing any one an injustice, however, 
even by implication, I must say that I have never yet been 
"bored " by a President of the United States. I think, how- 
ever, that every editor who has been on a large and influential 
daily paper will say that I have not exaggerated with regard to 
the Honorable Senators and Members of the House. 

But it is in the Sanctum of the weekly paper that the Bore 
shines with his maximum brilliancy, assumes his grandest pro- 
portions. It is there that he is "at home; " there that, with 
a frightful atmosphere of leisure surrounding him like a halo, 
he leans back in a spare arm-chair, throws his feet up on the 
Editor's table, and thus sits, and bores, and bores, and bores! 
It is there he comes, and the Editor thinks he is "never going 
to leave." The great trouble is, he is often a well-meaning, 
good-hearted fellow, whom no gentleman would like to insult, 
if he could help it. I remember that once while publishing a 
San Francisco paper mentioned in the foregoing pages, a writer 
used to come in, sit down, and blow, and, incredible as it may 
appear, deliberately spit tobacco-juice into a disordered pile of 
exchanges lying upon the floor. I am probably a mild-tempered 
person, and I never said a word, nor even looked cross, to in- 
timate that such a proceeding was other than highly satisfac- 
tory to me ; but I do know editors who would have brained 
him. 

Then there was another party, named Pickles, that inflicted 

himself upon me while I was conducting the same paper. He 

was a " writer," and once or twice brought in little articles that 

I deemed " worth publishing," after which there was no getting 

20* 



234 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

rid of him. Indeed, I used to miss him when he came in only 
once a day. There was a sort of delicious void in the atmo- 
sphere of that sanctum when Pickles stayed away, for example, 
a whole afternoon. In such cases my short moments of rest 
were usually occupied by such mental talk as this: "I do 
wonder where Pickles can be. Not dead, I — No. I never 
have been a lucky man." Pickles had not within him any 
elements of literary greatness, and I learned to dread, as I 
learned to recognize, the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. 
But then he was so good-natured. Why, he would have been 
a humorist if he had been " smart " enough. 

One day Pickles came in when I was very busy — very busy, 
indeed. He carried under his arm a great mass of manuscript, 
and I shuddered as I contemplated what might be in store for 
me. He laid it down before me on a proof for which the fore- 
man was impatiently waiting, and opened his discourse by 
paying me the following high compliment : 

"Mr. , I have great confidence in your good taste and 

good judgment — more than I have in any other man's in 
California; and — •" 

" Yes? Thank you," I replied, almost as much flattered as 
the smooth-tongued Mr. Chester was flattered by the glaring 
compliments of Simon Tappertit ; and I gently removed the 
manuscript from my proof. 

"The fact is," Pickles proceeded, "the fact is, I've been 
writing a romance. I thought I'd keep it from you, and treat 
you to a little surprise." 

1 ' Ah — yes — exactly. ' ' 

This demon imagined that his " literary" work was of such 
importance that had I known he was "writing a romance " my 
mind must have dwelt upon it day and night, to the exclusion 
of interests at the first view slightly nearer to me. 



THE BORE, 235 

"I intend to publish it in book form." 

"Do you?" 

I now felt better. 

"Yes, although " — I now felt worse — "I would not object 
to your publishing it first as a serial in your paper. ' ' 

"No?" 

My heart sank within me. 

"No — But we '11 talk that over after you 've read it." 

"Yes, after — exactly — after I've read it? Well, yes, I 
see." 

"Yes, I'd like you to read it critically and tell me what you 
think of it." 

" Very well. I'll just take charge of it, and — call in again, 
say, about Saturday." 

"All right." 

After a couple of hours he left, and strange to say, he did 
not return before Saturday, thereby missing two whole days, a 
circumstance entirely unparalleled by any preceding circum- 
stance in the history of my acquaintance with him. 

Well, I am impressed with the conviction that I knew enough 
of Pickles' s literary powers to put it in the form of an axiom 
that he couldn't write an acceptable romance; so, I merely 
glanced at the manuscript and laid it away in a drawer till he 
should come in again. He " looked in " with a beaming face 
and a cheerful " Hello," on the ensuing Saturday. 

"Well," he said, "did you — did you — " 

He hesitated. Perhaps he felt that my decision in reference 
to his " romance " was too important a matter to be communi- 
cated very abruptly ; like the old darkey who said: " Massa, 
one ob your oxes is dead. Todder, too. 'Fraid to tell you ob 
bofe togedder, fear you couldn't bore it." 

"Mr. Pickles," I said, calmly, "I have looked over your 



236 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

manuscript," — so I had, — "and — of course you want me to 
be perfectly frank with you ? ' ' 

"Ye — yes : O, yes," he replied; but his countenance fell. 

The man evidently had a presentiment of evil. 

• • Well, then, Mr. Pickles, I must say, in all candor, that I 
did not find the story to be what I might have wished. To tell 
the truth about it, which I know you wish me to do — " 

" Certainly " — pale, and with dry lips. 

"To tell the truth about it, in writing this story you have 
not done yourself justice — ," nor had he ; for he ought to have 
been at work with a hatchet and saw, — " and I advise you not 
to attempt to get it published. At least, keep it six months or 
so, like Virgil used to do, and then you can look over it again 
and view it more calmly than now, when it is so fresh from 
your mind. I trust you will not blame me for thus being en- 
tirely frank with you ? ' ' 

" O, no ; not at all," he said ; but I could see that he com- 
mended me in the same degree that the bishop commended Gil 
Bias for kindly notifying him (in accordance with the good 
man's own instructions) that his powers were beginning to fail. 

It is useless to try to conceal the fact that, as "society" is 
at present "organized," your dearest friend will hate you for 
pointing out his defects, — such as he cannot himself see, — no 
matter how pure and unselfish your motives in so doing may be. 
Shall we get over that some day ? 

Pickles took his manuscript, took his departure, and — O, 
joy ! — never more came into my sanctum. After all, there are 
some things that work together for our good, if I may be par- 
doned for paraphrasing Scripture. 

While conducting the Enunciator in San Francisco, which 
paper I think I have alluded to once or twice before, I probably 
had as fine an opportunity as is afforded anywhere to learn what 



THE BORE. 237 

a newspaper Bore is ; and I once published in that paper — files 
of which I have preserved — a humorous article on the subject, 
by " O. Job Jones," a writer alluded to in another chapter, and 
although it may read like hyperbole, it is nearer to the truth 
than it is to caricature, and I here reproduce it : 

THE BORE AND THE SANCTUM. 

" Ours " is such a genial nature that we often go mad with pride and joy 
at the thought of the wide circle of friends who, in their leisure moments, 
drop in upon us during our business hours, to bore our lives pleasantly away. 
As they rarely stay longer than three or four hours at a time, we enjoy their 
visits very much. These visits are certain to occur at times when our duties 
are most pressing, and hence we are very much stimulated and encouraged 
by their lively and agreeable conversation — to proceed with our work with 
great deliberation. 

Here is a fair average diary of one of our busiest days : 
We arrive at our office feeling that there is a day's work before us, and we 
go at it with a will. We take off our hat and coat, push back our hair, as- 
sume our chair, take up our pen and proceed to put into the shape of an 
editorial our deep cogitations on a subject in metaphysics that agitates the 
public mind. We write : 

" In the interminable intricacies between subject and object, we cannot 
help leaning to the opinion that in a concentration of individual identity the 
empiric theory, derived as it is from ethnologic rather than from psychologic 
de — " 

" Hell-lo ! " exclaims a very musical voice at this moment, as the door 
bursts open and displays the face, all covered with sunshine, of our " friend " 
Smith. 

It is a holiday of his, but in the warmth of his genial nature he never 
stops to reflect that it is not one of ours. 

We cannot help saying, " Good-morning," and trying to appear friendly, 
as he isn't a bad-hearted fellow. Besides, he may not intend to spend 
more than half the day with us. 

" How are you to-day ? " he asks, as he walks forward, leaving the door 
open, and throws himself into an arm-chair within twelve inches of us, with 
a perfectly at-home air that makes us feel very happy. 



238 SECRETS*OF THE SANCTUM. 

Our ruddy complexion and generally-robust appearance compel us to 
admit that we are — " O, pretty well." 

"At the theater last night? " he asks, in a tone loud enough to go clear 
across the street and come back fresh as ever. 

"Ye — no — yes," we reply, abstractedly, scarcely knowing whether we 
want to say, "yes," or "no," or whether we really were at the theater or 
not. 

"Which one?" 

Beginning to regain our composure, we tell him. 

" So was I ! " he says. " Was n't that one of the — " and he proceeds to 
edify us with exhaustive criticisms on the play, we having already " writ- 
ten it up." 

"Have you the morning papers?" he asks, at the conclusion of his 
remarks. 

" Yes, there they are," we reply, joyfully. 

Now, he will read awhile, and we shall finish our editorial. We once 
more dip our pen into the ink, and are just contracting our brows prepar- 
atory to the elimination of a great idea, and it has barely made a dot on the 
paper when Smith blurts out : 

" O, by thunder ! A fellow stabbed last night 'at I knew in St. Louis ! 
Well, I declare! Always thought him a peaceable man. His father — " 
And he goes on to give us a history of the stabbed man, and the stabbed 
man's father, and the stabbed man's father's business, and everything per- 
taining to the stabbed man — in whom and which we feel perhaps as much 
interest as we feel in the person and affairs of that yellow Chinaman pass- 
ing along on the opposite side of the street. 

There is a pause. We are a little disturbed, but begin to collect ourselves 
and square around to our work again. That " idea," recently dispersed 
like the morning dew before the summer sun, is beginning to come back 
and to concentrate itself again at our earnest bidding. We catch a glimmer 
of its returning outline. There, we have it. Now, pen, to thy — 

Bang ! Bump ! Thump ! It 's only Smith's number 13, heavy-soled boots, 
thrown up on one end of our table, in a free-and-easy way, as he leans back 
in his chair and places himself in an attitude to squint more complacently 
upon the morning paper that screens his hideous countenance. The idea 
vanishes; but the cold perspiration on our brow does not. 

We glance boldly at those feet, as if plainly to say that we should feel 



THE BORE. 239 

indebted to their owner if he would kindly remove them; but Smith is 
intently regarding a paragraph in the newspaper, and sees not our vexation. 
All is quiet for a minute or two; then, somewhat reconciled to the disa- 
greeable state of things in our sanctum, we begin very slowly to collect our 
scattered thoughts, and once more to concentrate our great mind upon our 
subject. 

" Oh — ah — say ! " Smith exclaims ; " did you hear about Wilkins ? " 

" Who 's Wilkins ? " we ask, grinding our teeth. 

"Oh, I thought you knew him; but — let me see — Oh, no; it wasn't 
you that was with him and me at the Cliff House last summer? No, no — 
now that I come to think, it was Charlie Brown, of Philadelphia. Well, 
this Wilkins, he — " And for just twenty -five minutes Smith discourses 
on Wilkins; but our reeling brain takes no note of the recital, and at the 
end we cannot record half a dozen words of it. 

He reads again ; we silently brood over our miseries. We do, at last, 
manage to add a line to our dissertation. We are beginning to think we 
shall be able to write two or three stickfuls without interruption, when Smith 
suddenly draws his tremendous feet from the table and lets them fall upon 
the floor with a loud crash, flings the morning paper carelessly upon our 
table, not caring whether it falls upon the manuscript under our nose or 
not, — and it does, — and says he guesses he'll go, to which we have not 
the strength to reply. 

But he does n't go just yet. He sits uneasily a moment, yawns, drawls 
out languidly, "O, Lord!" twists himself around in his chair, as though 
to crush and grind certain fleas that may be biting him, and finally — 
heavens, what a relief ! — gets up and moves toward the door. We are 
just preparing to say, " Good-morning," as pleasantly as possible, regretting 
that it might not be " Farewell, eternally," instead, when he stops and 
stands near the door. 

" Why don't you drop round and see a feller ? " he asks, with an air of 
perfect leisure. 

" Haven't time," we reply. " We are pressed to death here for time, and 
cannot get out even to our meals. We are fearfully behind time now." 
And we dip our pen into the ink with energy and determination. 

"Well," he moralizes, " you editors do have a great time of it, I reckon. 
Worked to death. Well — so long." 

We barely answer him, and he passes out, very deliberately closing the 



240 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

door after him, which creaks in a thrilling manner, although it never did so 
before. We really believe that man Smith carries an evil influence about 
him. We trust, in all benevolence of spirit, that he may fall down the 
stairs and break his neck ! No such good luck. We hear the clatter of his 
hoofs on the stairs, slowly — ah, too carefully ! — descending to the bottom, 
and he is safe ; safe to come and torment us again, whenever the Evil One 
puts it into hisjiead. 
Now to our work. 

" — dition of self-consciousness, as is demonstrated by a re-active principle 
of — " 

" Here we are ! " And the door is flung open, to reveal the hateful form 
of our "friend" Watkins, whose beaming face looks like the Fourth of 

J ul y- 

We make a powerful effort to be civil — barely succeeding. 

" Always at work," he sagely remarks, as he takes a seat on one corner 
of our sacred writing-table, with his feet dangling down, and begins drum- 
ming with his fingers. " No rest for the wicked." This he considers wit, 
and smiles good-naturedly. " Well, what a time of it you Bohemians 
have ! " 

Bohemians ! 

We are silent. We try to speak, but could not utter a sentence for a 
million dollars a word. 

"What's new?" he asks, in a vigorous voice, that sounds as softly 
musical as the combined manufacture of boilers and the filing of many saws. 

"Nothing — nothing," we reply, absently, while our mind dwells in no 
complimentary terms on " the day he was born." 

He thrusts his hands in his trousers-pockets, and changes the position of 
his body, thus swinging our light table to and fro and threatening to crush 
it ; while we sit champing the end of our pen-holder like an untamed steed 
chewing a bridle-bit. 

Presently Watkins abandons his seat and walks around for awhile, up- 
setting a chair in his perambulations and making untold racket. Several 
pictures, hanging upon the walls, bear witness to our refined taste. These 
become a subject of Mr. Watkins's unasked-for criticism. Then he ques- 
tions us. Where did we get this one? What is the meaning of that one ? 
Who "did" that other one? When? Where? How long? How much? 
Which ? Who ? Color ? Shade ? Age ? Name ? These are his queries, 



THE BORE. 24I 

boiled down. We convey all the information we can, in the fewest possible 
words; while Watkins fills up every interstice with voluble criticisms — both 
of the pictures and our taste. 

At last he sits down in an arm-chair and begins a real chat. 

Our editorial is gone to the dogs for this time, and we calmly lay down 
our pen and meditate revenge. We glare upon Watkins, when he is n't 
looking, with fiendish hate. We could kill him. We could stab, shoot, 
hang, drown, or brain him. We could ! But at last we think of a nobler, 
purer, sweeter, holier revenge. Watkins has a wife who is a shrew, and 
who hates one drop of liquor worse than a thousand bushels of rattlesnakes. 
Watkins dare not drink — unless veiy much tempted ; then when he does, 
he is certain to go the whole length and as certain of the dreadful conse- 
quences. With an outward smile, to conceal our inward malignity, we say: 

"Watkins — been hard at work — feel rather dry: let's go out around 
the corner and take something." 

" Why, I — the fact is — " 

"O, nonsense. Come along. Just one won't hurt anybody. You'll 
wrong me if you refuse to go and take one with me when I so much need 
it. I will not drink alone." 

Without another word he allows himself to be led away like a lamb to 
the sacrifice. We conduct him to a "place " where we know he is certain 
to meet some old acquaintances. 

" Well, what are you going to take?" 

He calls for whisky, and we silently hiss between our clenched teeth : 

" Now, venom, to thy work ! " 

We have just drank when several old chums come in, and they sing out: 

" Hello, Watkins, old fellow ! " 

Watkins sees us turning as if to go, and says : 

" Hold on. Let 's have another. Here, set 'em up. What are you all 
going to have, boys ? " 

"Will be back in one minute, Watkins," we say; "merely want to hail 
a friend who just passed. Take your drink and wait here." 

" All right." 

Glasses are set up with joyful clinks, we see the revel begin, and we 
rejoice as we ponder on what Watkins will catch when he goes home in 
five or six hours from now ; and in a pleasant frame of mind we return to 
our sanctum, lock our door and complete our editorial. 
21 Q 



242 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A NOTED LIBEL SUIT. 

IN the year 18 — I was connected with a Philadelphia paper 
pretty well known as the Sunday Mercury. Its proprietors 
were Wm. Meeser and Fred Grayson, — both pretty good fel- 
lows, — the former a printer and journalist, the latter a lawyer 
and journalist. Most of my transactions with the firm were 
concluded between Mr. Meeser and myself, and it was he who 
one Monday morning, in autumn, said to me : 

"I wish you would write us a good spicy story, like some 
you have already written, " — for I had contributed four or five 
serials to the Mercury, — " and make it entirely local." 

' 'Very well," I replied, having no engagements that would 
be likely to prevent me. "Any special features? " 

"Yes. Give it strong political bearings. Illustrate in it 
how Rings are managed ; how the public is defrauded by cor- 
rupt office-holders ; how the people are cajoled and ruled by 
the manipulators of party organizations ; how the masses are 
led blindly to vote for bad men without knowing it, and often 
without the moral courage to help it. You see the idea. Of 
course, picture these things in a romance, in a general way, 
merely as an illustration. Make no allusion to any distinctive 
office, or office-holder, and be careful to embody nothing that 
approaches either a libel or an injustice to any one or any party. ' ' 

" To be sure. How long a story would you like this time ? " 

"I don't care. It might run six months if your chain of 
characters and incidents will hold out that long. As to remu- 
neration, fix your price, and we '11 pay it." 

"All right." 



A NOTED LIBEL SUIT. 243 

This was all — the whole sum and substance of what was said 
or understood between Mr. Meeser and myself concerning the 
writing of a fictitious story, the first two chapters of which 
proved to be the corpus delicti on which was based one of the 
most extraordinary "criminal" prosecutions ever conducted in 
the city of Philadelphia. I did not again see Mr. Meeser until 
I had written three hundred manuscript pages of the story, for 
the reason that I was suddenly called to the country, over four 
hundred miles from Philadelphia, and it was in the rural region 
that I did the work. I named my story, " Philadelphia, By 
Day and By Night," with a sub-title, and sent the first two or 
three hundred pages by mail to the Mercury, and its publication 
began at once. The first chapter opened with the following 
picture of a leading " character," true to the life in the abstract, 
specifically imaginary and fictitious : 

The Honorable William Bilman, who held the high position of Tribune 
of Philadelphia, sat alone in his own office, one summer day, wrapped in a 
moody reverie, such as he sometimes, in his idle moments, indulged. He was 
pondering over the many, and curious, and various deeds — none of them 
good — which he had done from time to time in the course of his political 
career. Naturally he may not have been a very bad man, but years of plan- 
ning, and scheming, and contending, and cheating, and defrauding, such as 
are incident to the career of an unscrupulous politician, had stamped upon his 
face a look of malignity and cunning. His very eyes indicated that he was 
used to suspicion and deception, for he never looked squarely at anything 
or anybody. If he looked at the clock to see what time it was, he, from 
mere force of habit, first glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, to see 
if it was looking at him. 

As he sat there, with his left hand resting on his writing-table, an annoy- 
ing fly crawled over the back of it; and he first half-closed his eyes, as if to 
make it think he was not observing it, and thus render it unwary, that he 
might take it by surprise; then smack! came the palm of his right hand on 
the back of his left. But the provoking insect escaped unhurt, for a finger, 
located between the forefinger and the little finger of Tribune Bilman's 
right hand, was wanting, and the fly — which otherwise would have been 
crushed — buzzed off and away through the unoccupied space. 

"Curses! Curses! Curses!" pondered William Bilman, glancing fur- 
tively, as usual, at the vacant place his lost finger had occupied — it was a 
finger he had had chewed off in a quiet bar-room fight before he had 



244 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

become so great a man. " Curses on that hound that crippled my hand ! 
I hate him more and more every day ! Well, that's foolish, too. Haven't 
I long since repaid him? He little thought then that I should ever become 
Tribune of Philadelphia, with power to hunt him down and thrust him into 
a prison-cell for twenty years ! Neither did I nor any one else at that time. 
Well, he 's safe. Twenty years ! O, that 's a mere trifle. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
Where is he now? Working away in his cheerless prison — at this very 
moment, I'll venture to say — making boots and shoes for his bread and 
water, with prospects of liberty in about twelve years from now. Ha ! ha ! 
ha! Will he live so long? Rather doubtful. Let him ever come out, 
however, and I '11 send him back for forty years ! O, I can do it ! I have 
the power ! I can make out a case of burglary, or larceny, or murder, 
against him or any man I hate ! O, 7" am in a position to glut my ven- 
geance, and put my foot on the necks of my enemies ! They called me a 
rough fifteen years ago. Well, suppose I was ! I 'm not a rough now. No ; 
I 'm a great lawyer, and the Tribune of Philadelphia. Suppose I was once 
concerned in a larceny case ; and suppose, even, that was the cause of my 
first taking a fancy to the law — to learn it, that I might evade it; suppose 
all this. I 've studied the law, learned it, and become a lawyer and Trib- 
une. Plaven't I risen, though? Once a rough, indulging in bar-room 
fights, charged with crime, but proved (?) innocent — and now a man of 
authority, learned in the law, and occupying the proud and potent position 
of Tribune ! Ha, ha, ha ! " 

Mr. Bi-lman lay back in his arm-chair, hoisted his feet up on the table, 
extended his arms and his whole burly form, and took a good laugh. Not 
a loud, free laugh, such as honest men indulge in when they are amused, 
but a low, chuckling, strangling, quivering laugh, that was peculiar to the 
potent Tribune. Then he got up, paced the floor, kicking a chair out of 
his way, and knocking it over; and presently began talking to himself 
again. 

Now, the gentleman who was at that time the District-Attor- 
ney of the county (and city) of Philadelphia seems to have 
thought, when he read this description of a "character," that 
it referred to him — not, be it remembered, because he was any 
such a wretch, or any such a fiendish-looking man as "Mr. 
Bilman ' ' was represented to be, but because the name sounded 
so much like his own. This gentleman was Mr. William B. 
Mann, and his name having been familiar in political circles of 
Philadelphia for years, he was often styled "Bill Mann," for 
short. The name " Bilman " — a name I have found in more 
than one city directory, by the way — sounded so much like 



A NOTED LIBEL SUIT. 245 

the familiar title of " Bill Mann " that he concluded he would 
be justifiable in instituting proceedings for libel against — not 
the writer of the story, but one of the owners of the paper in 
which it was published. This unfortunate gentleman was Mr. 
Wm. Meeser, who happened to be politically opposed to Mr. 
Mann, and who had more than once severely criticised his 
official conduct. 

The first installment of the story, embracing the extract 
already given, and a scene or two in which " William Bilman " 
figured as a very bad man, was published in the Mercury one 
Sunday morning, and early on Monday morning Mr. Meeser 
was waited upon by a dreadful constable with a warrant author- 
izing the latter to take the. former's "body." Although ap- 
palled at the thought of assuming the attitude of a mere "body," 
as considered outside of the principles of life and individuality, 
Mr. Meeser readily accompanied the official, (who informed 
him that he might as well "go quietly, you know,")" and was 
ushered into the awful presence of an alderman. The District- 
Attorney was present, and having been duly sworn, he deposed 
substantially (I write only from memory) that his name was 
William B. Mann ; that he believed himself to have been libeled 
by Wm. Meeser ; that he fully believed that the character of 
"Bilman" was "meant for him;" that it held him up to 
ridicule and contempt ; that he was not aware of being so bad 
a man as painted in the "libelous" article; that he had not 
"studied law to learn how to evade it," but had done so "at 
the instance of a dear father ; ' ' and he prayed that the law 
might "take its course." 

I was not present, nor in the city, at the time, but I think 

Mr. Meeser waived a hearing, and entered bail; and so the 

case was brought before the Court of Quarter Sessions with a 

promptness that did great credit to those whose duty it was to 

21* 



246 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

prosecute offenders against the laws of the Commonwealth. 
The publisher of the " libel " was arraigned asa u criminal," 
while the writer, enjoying delicious immunity from the law's 
" meshes," figured only as a witness ; which, allowing the story 
to have been libelous, wears about the same aspect of a fitness 
of things as would appear in a case where a man is prosecuted 
for having the misfortune to get robbed and the thief, unmo- 
lested, is the principal witness in the case. 

With commendable delicacy, Mr. Mann refrained from per- 
sonally conducting the case for the Commonwealth, as he might 
have done in his official capacity, and the prosecution was placed 
in the hands of Hon. Benjamin H. Brewster, at that time Attor- 
ney-General of Pennsylvania, and one of the ablest of Philadel- 
phia lawyers, and Hon. Thomas Bradford Dwight, then Assistant 
District-Attorney. The defense was intrusted by Mr. Meeser 
to Messrs. I. Newton Brown and John A. Clark, both able 
lawyers. The judge, who presided over the case with equit- 
able discrimination, was Hon. F. Carroll Brewster. 

Poor Bill Meeser ! He was brought into the crowded court- 
room like a criminal, although graciously allowed the privilege 
of sitting at a table by the side of his counsel, instead of being 
placed in the iron-barred dock, — for even the counsel for the 
prosecution did not deem him so desperate a character as to be 
likely to attempt to escape, by bounding away over the heads 
of the dense masses of spectators and jumping out the window, 
— yes, brought in to be " tried " for a " crime," which, if com- 
mitted at all, was committed by me ! 

The trial lasted three or four days, and attracted as much at- 
tention as a first-class murder case. The great interest taken in 
the case by the public was due partly to the prominence of the 
principal parties, and partly to the fact that it was understood 
to be largely permeated by the political element ; so, the court- 
room was daily little less than packed. 



A NOTED LIBEL SUIT. 2AJ 

After the usual difficulties in securing an impartial jury, suc- 
cess finally attending the efforts to do so, and after the custom- 
ary presentations of the case, various witnesses were examined, 
including some "big guns," such as ex-Governor Curtin, who 
was called to testify with reference to Mr. Mann's commission 
as colonel of a Pennsylvania regiment which he had led to the 
field early in the war. Among the witnesses for the prosecution 
there were probably thirty or forty persons, — some of them 
well-known lawyers, who swore that they had read the opening 
chapters of the story in the Mercury, and " thought," or " be- 
lieved," that the character of "Hon. William Bilman " was 
intended for Mr. Mann. One gentleman of the legal pro- 
fession went so far as to say, on oath, that he was "certain of 
it!" It seemed to me that he was the only person in the 
court-room besides the writer of the story who was "certain " 
as to what was in that writer's thoughts when he conceived and 
portrayed the character of " Hon. William Bilman." 

The defense had but few witnesses, as Mr. Meeser and his 
counsel had from the beginning disclaimed any allusion, in my 
fictitious story, to Mr. William B. Mann. The principal wit- 
ness for the defense was the writer of the story (and of this 
volume). There was some bickering as to how he should be 
qualified as a witness, the counsel for the prosecution at first 
insisting on his " taking the book," and he declining to do so, 
for reasons that I think will be guessed by any intelligent per- 
son who has read the chapter of this work entitled " The Reli- 
gion of Editors." This important witness, having finally 
qualified by affirmation, stated, with a frankness and candor 
that ought to have moved even the counsel for the prosecution 
to tears, that the character of "Hon. William Bilman" was 
purely fictitious; that it certainly was not "meant for Mr. 
Mann; " that Mr. Meeser had not instructed him to libel Mr. 






248 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Mann ; that there was no collusion between the witness and 
Mr. Meeser to libel Mr. Mann, or any other man ; no hint from 
Mr. Meeser to the witness, " no ambiguous giving out of note," 
by which the witness might have understood or suspected that 
Mr. Meeser desired him to libel Mr. Mann ; that at the time 
of the writing the witness had never even seen Mr. Mann, that 
he was aware of; that the story was written over four hundred 
miles from Philadelphia, and sent by mail to the Mercury ; 
that Mr.* Meeser was in the habit of reposing great confidence 
in the writer, and of publishing his stories without even reading 
them (so far as the writer knew), or knowing what imaginary 
characters or scenes were described in them. 

The witness was then cross - examined two hours by the 
Attorney-General, who probably knew how to cross-examine a 
witness, if any one ever did; but this deep and searching cross- 
examination, while it developed the fact that several eminent (?) 
lawyers present did not know the meaning in Roman history, 
or even the proper pronunciation, of the word " Tribune," left 
his testimony standing like a rock ! 

Nevertheless, Attorney-General Brewster, in his summing up, 
delicately hinted that the writer ( I ! ) might have committed 
perjury ; and even the judge himself, in his charge to the jury, 
alluded very tenderly to the extraordinary testimony of the 
writer. Worse still, one of the daily papers afterward (un- 
kindly,! think) spoke of the "remarkable statements" of the 
writer of the story in the Mercury, adding : " This gentleman, 
we believe, belongs in Fayette County, and we advise him to 
return thither as soon as possible, unless he has the cuticle of a 
rhinoceros." This merely meant that it looked very much as 
though the said writer ( I ! ) had sworn to a few lies. 

I must confess that I was not blessed with the "cuticle of a 
rhinoceros," but, nevertheless, my departure from Philadelphia 



A NOTED LIBEL SUIT. 249 

became no early event. I have spent most of my time there 
since, except when traveling, and expect to remain there most 
of my time until unavoidable circumstances render it advisable 
to go and get buried. 

I cannot ignore the fact that there were some coincident 
features of this matter that might well engender a suspicion 
that the character of "Hon. William Bilman" was at least 
"drawn from" the then District-Attorney. When I came to 
see him in the court-room, where I saw his face for the first time 
in my life, I did think there was a peculiar expression about the 
eye-brows, — induced, no doubt, by excessive mental application, 
as in the case of Blackstone, — a sort of perpetual frown, that 
might reasonably have been compared with the scowl on the face 
of the mythical "Bilman." But how many people have this 
same contraction of the brows ! 

Regarding the name, "Bilman," which many thoughtless 
people looked upon as prima facie evidence that the character 
was meant for William B. Mann, I have to say that one mo- 
ment's intelligent consideration ought to show it to be evidence 
against such a theory, rather than in favor of it. Why? There 
is a similarity of sound and of orthography ; but scrutinize it 
more closely. Here we have in the name of the character, first 
the whole Christian name of "William; " then in the first syl- 
lable of the surname we have that name repeated in the familiar 
abbreviation of " Bil " — with but one "1," mark you; and 
thus, if meant for Mr. Mann, the tautology would have been as 
stupid as that in "Peter Pete Smith" or "James Jim Jones," 
the real names being Peter Smith and James Jones, and would 
have done little credit to the ingenuity of the writer. 

There was another coincidence, striking at first view, but 
utterly set aside, as evidence, by a careful analysis. "The 
Hon. William Bilman " was represented as having lost a finger 



250 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

of the right hand, it having been " chewed off in a quiet bar- 
room fight " — a finger " between the index and little fingers." 
This was merely a device of the fiction-writer to allow the "an- 
noying fly" to escape, and so to present an example of the 
petty malevolence of the imaginary character, "Bilman," and 
at the same time to give him an opportunity to begin his soliloquy. 
Well, District- Attorney Mann hadlost a finger of the right hand, 
by a gunning accident, I think, but it was the index finger itself, 
and not " a finger between the index and little fingers." This 
fact, it seems to me, while at first suggestive of a mental associ- 
ation, ought to lead any sensible person, after a deliberate anal- 
ysis, to the conclusion that, of all men living, Mr. Mann was 
the least likely to have been referred to in the portrayal of the 
character of "Hon. William Bilman." 

I know a gentleman who lost an arm in the recent civil war. 
There was a time when I did not know him — had never seen 
him — had never heard of him — when I wrote a novel in which 
was a character described as having lost an arm in the war. The 
gentleman having read it years afterward, one day said to me : 

" If you had known me when you wrote that story, I could have 
sworn that you intended that character for me." 

It was like him ; it described his complexion ; the color of 
his eyes ; the color of his hair ; the shape of his nose ; his size ; 
his gait, which was peculiar ; mentioned which arm he lost (the 
left) ; and even mentioned a scar over the right eye, exactly 
such a scar as this real, living one-armed gentleman had over 
his right eye — the result of an accident in youth ; yet he knows, 
and I know, that I had never seen him or heard of him when I 
wrote the story. When he made the remark to me, I pondered 
thus : " How many one-armed men, with just such complexion, 
just such eyes, just such hair, there may be in the world ; and 
if I had made the character a bad one, how many libel suits I 
and my publishers might have had on our hands ! " 



A NOTED LIBEL SUIT. 25 I 

To return to the "Bilman" libel suit: The jury — an un- 
usually " intelligent " one — did not take the same view of the 
case which I have presented here, and after half-an-hour's de- 
liberation, notwithstanding the very direct and emphatic testi- 
mony of the writer (me !) came in with a verdict of — " guilty." 
A motion for a new trial was made, but, after "due consider- 
ation," refused, and the Honorable Court "sentenced" Wm. 
Meeser, — the penalty fixed upon being a fine of five hundred 
dollars and nine months' imprisonment in the county prison. 
In accordance with this sentence, he was "incarcerated" in 
Moyamensing prison, and remained there for a period of six 
weeks, when Governor Geary exercised the "executive clem- 
ency," to the extent of releasing him and remitting the fine. 
The affair was not without important results, whether for the 
public good or not it is not my province here to say. Speedily 
following it, there arose some feeling against Mr. Mann in his 
own party, and he failed, at the next county convention, to re- 
ceive a renomination for the office he had held many years, and 
at the ensuing general election a talented legal gentleman of the 
opposite party, Mr. Furman Sheppard, was chosen to succeed 
him as District-Attorney. 

Now, by the conviction of Mr. Meeser, two excellent persons 
were placed in an unpleasant position ; namely, Mr. Meeser 
himself and the writer of that "libel," — the latter of whom, 
unfortunately, had neglected to provide himself with the 
"cuticle of a rhinoceros." Indeed, I felt it keenly when I 
found that my testimony was utterly ignored, and when some 
of my best friends — friends who had reason to know that my 
testimony was true — rallied me in a good-humored way with 
such remarks as, " They say you 're a pretty hard swearer." I 
treated the matter lightly, but I was keenly sensible of the false 
position in which I had been placed, through no fault of mine ; 



252 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

certainly not through the shadow of a deviation from "the 
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." 

I had testified that I did not know the District-Attorney. 
But people would say: "Incredible. Everybody knows Bill 
Mann. ' ' That is, people who did not know vie. Those who 
did, knew that at that time I had not lived long in Philadel- 
phia, and that my knowledge of local politics and local poli- 
ticians was very circumscribed. Why, it transpired in the 
course of Mr. Mann's own testimony that he and Mr. Meeser 
were personally unknown to each other, and that he "would 
not have known him if he had met him in the street ! " Yet 
both had lived many years in Philadelphia. 

The finger business I have already disposed of in a way that 
must be very clear to any intellectual mind ; and now let me 
say, with all the sincerity that is in my nature, that the proposi- 
tion that the fictitious character of "Hon. William Bilman " 
could have been intended to "mean William B. Mann," or 
any other particular person, living or dead, appears to me silly 
and ridiculous ! If the " character " had been like him ; if the 
writer had known him well, and had actually drawn the char- 
acter with William B. Mann in his mind's eye; if he had 
described him accurately, I am impressed with the belief that 
it still would not have been a libel, provided that the writer 
did not mention the name or position of the then District- 
Attorney, and did not mean to be understood as intending the 
"character" for Mr. Mann, or implying that he actually did 
the disreputable acts which the "character" was represented 
as doing. I believe that all writers of fiction will see this so 
clearly at the first glance as to pronounce an opposite theory 
worthy of being sincerely entertained by no one of keen per- 
ceptions. 

One of Dickens's most famous characters is "Micawber," 



A NOTED LIBEL SUIT. 253 

the man who "waited for something to turn up." It is said 
that the great novelist "drew the character from his own 
father, ' ' who was precisely such a character, who was just such 
an improvident man as the shrimp-eating "Micawber." The 
very name would favor this theory, because "Micawber," 
unless very distinctly spoken, sounds much like " my father; " 
yet imagine Mr. John Dickens preferring a charge of libel 
against his distinguished son Charles, or against the publishers 
of " David Copperfield ! " Imagine any one with an intellect 
so infinitesimally little above that of the African gorilla that he 
could believe that, in describing the eccentric feats of *' Micaw- 
ber," Dickens meant, or ever dreamed of being understood as 
meaning, that his father, the improvident John, did just those 
things ! 

One more important point in this case should not be over- 
looked. It is said that "everything is fair in war," and 
looking upon a suit in court as a species of war, the conduct of 
the Assistant District-Attorney was undoubtedly fair in this 
case, as viewed in the light of that adage. In libel suits the 
alleged libelous article is read in open court, and it therefore 
became the province of Mr. Dwight to stand up with a copy 
of the Mercury in his hand and read aloud the two opening 
chapters of my story — much, I trust, to the edification of the 
judge and jury. The name of this fictitious character, "Mr. 
Bilman," frequently occurred in these chapters, and Mr. 
Dwight, instead of pronouncing the name as it was written and 
printed, pronounced it in every case, very distinctly, " Mr. 
Bill Mann." Is it to be wondered at that a powerful impres- 
sion was thus made on the minds of the "intelligent" jury, 
who only heard the "libelous " article read, and did not see it 
" in print " ? Witnesses were then introduced who swore, and 
very truthfully, that Mr. Mann was generally known as "Bill 



254 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Mann;" and here to the jury seemed to be a "plain case/ 5 in 
which the complainant's name was undisguisedly mentioned. If 
the counsel for the prosecution believed they had a clear and just 
case against Mr. Meeser, does it seem probable that they would 
have thought it necessary to resort to such an artifice for making 
an impression on the minds of the jury ? This is one of those 
questions sometimes asked never to be satisfactorily answered. 

No one knows better than I do that William Meeser was not 
guilty of a crime. If any one was, it was myself. His con- 
viction, which I regard as an unfortunate mistake, was due 
partly to the fact that fiction-writing (I trust this will not be 
regarded as such) was imperfectly understood by the jury, 
which caused them to look upon the writer's testimony as 
"extraordinary statements," partly to the unjust laws relating 
to libels. In another chapter, I have shown how a journalist 
may be annoyed and even blackmailed by unprincipled adven- 
turers, who may at any time take advantage of too-rigorous 
libel laws to rob an editor ; but it does seem to me a great 
wrong that the act of libel should be legally rated as a crime, — 
that the owner of a newspaper may be arrested, tried in the 
criminal courts and sent to prison along with thieves, and 
forgers, and murderers, because an employe, however inadvert- 
ently, has written and published in his paper an incorrect 
statement affecting the reputation of some obscure individual. 

I would not be understood as saying that journalists ought to 
be allowed to say what they please about any and every body, 
whether true or false. A wholesome check is necessary ; but it 
ought not to extend beyond pecuniary responsibility. The 
publisher of a pacer should be liable to damages, if he should 
allow his paper to injure any one ; and any editor or publisher 
who owns a paper of sufficient circulation and influence to be 
able seriously to damage any one's reputation will always be 



THE GALLOWS. 255 

found possessing the means necessary for indemnity. It is no 
more right to imprison the owner of a paper because one of his 
employed editors writes and publishes an untruth about some- 
body than it would be right to imprison the proprietor of a 
grocery-store because the man he employs to drive his wagon 
runs over and injures some one in the street. He might 
properly be called upon to pay damages because of the care- 
lessness of his employe, but certainly he would be no criminal. 
So, while I repeat that the libel laws were too rigorous, and 
that the jury probably had not so clear a conception of the case 
against Mr. Meeser as almost any person will have after having 
perused this chapter, I must say that it is not for me, nor has 
it been my purpose, to question the sincerity and fairness of 
the judge or jury, or even the purity of the motives of the able 
legal gentleman who saw fit to make the complaint leading to 
the prosecution of Mr. Meeser. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE GALLOWS. 

IT is a prerogative of the journalist to see almost every phase 
of human life, and to witness many strange things from 
which the general public is shut out. Among these things are 
executions on the gallows. It has happened in the course of 
my own experience that I have seen but one man hanged, and 
on that occasion I did so as a duty, and not through " morbid 
curiosity." The hanging of a murderer is no very pleasing 
sight, nor is it a sight for the reporter to shrink from. Indeed, 
I look upon it with the same indifference I should feel if my 



256 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

duties took me to a slaughter-house, and I should have to 
observe and write up the manner of killing a bullock or hog. 

There are well-meaning philanthropists who believe in the 
abolishment of capital punishment, and I agree with them that it 
ought to be abolished — provided capital crime is abolished first. 
I think that just as soon as the crime of murder becomes obsolete 
we ought to — and will — stop hanging murderers. The well- 
meaning philanthropists alluded to seem to expend all their 
sympathy on the poor unfortunate murderer, seldom wasting a 
thought on the victim who is struck down in the street, or 
butchered in his bed, or on the widow and orphans upon whom 
the assassin has heaped at once an oppressing weight of grief 
and destitution. But notwithstanding all that good men have 
said against capital punishment, and after giving the matter 
careful thought, I have been forced to the conclusion that we 
ought to continue killing murderers as long as they continue to 
kill innocent people. I don't care how — whether by hanging, 
decapitating or shooting; but let us kill them, and kill them 
as soon as possible, after they have been proved, beyond all 
doubt, guilty. This, not in any spirit of vengeance ("ven- 
geance is mine ; I will repay," saith the Lord), but simply as a 
measure of self-protection — just as we kill the rattlesnake. We 
do not kill that reptile in any spirit of vindictiveness ; we do 
not " hate " it, as we have no reason to do so; but we know 
that it has been "created" with poisonous fangs, and with a 
disposition to use them, and (grant that it cannot resist the 
temptation to bite) considerations of the safety of the commu- 
nities in which the venomous creature is found demand its 
destruction whenever possible. The object is, not to torture 
even the rattlesnake, but to kill it as quickly and painlessly 
as possible — to take the most direct measures of effectually 
destroying its power to do harm. 



THE GALLOWS. 257 

The person whom I, in the capacity of a reporter, saw hanged, 
was "a man in years." He had reached the age of sixty, and 
the peculiar atrocity of the crime of which he paid the penalty 
— his victim being a girl of thirteen — showed him to be a man 
of almost incredible depravity. He had steadfastly persisted that 
he was innocent until within a short time of the day fixed for 
the execution of his sentence ; then, having abandoned all hope 
of the "executive clemency," he "made his peace with God," 
although he had prayed continually ever since his conviction, 
and at the same time made a confession of the crime of which 
he stood convicted, and a long list of other crimes — including 
a murder of which he had never been charged — extending 
over a series of years ; crimes he had committed while daily 
putting on a show of piety, and crimes of which he had never 
been even suspected. This confession, if there had been any 
doubt of his guilt in the case of the murder of which he was 
convicted — but there was not — would have entirely removed 
such doubt. [In this connection I am reminded that a mur- 
derer was hanged in New York not many years ago, after a 
powerful pressure of money and influence had been brought to 
bear to save him ; and after the execution it transpired that the 
same person had once before committed a wanton murder and 
been saved from the just penalty by a near relative, who 
possessed great wealth and some political influence.] 

At the entrance of the State Prison, within whose walls the 
legal tragedy was to be enacted, I found the Deputy-Warden, 
whom I knew, and I handed him the pass I had received from 
the High Sheriff, saying: 

1 ' I suppose that is to be given up here ? ' ' 

"Yes," he replied, "and it would be hard for a stranger to 
get in without one." 

" Have there been many applications for admission ? " 
22* R 



258 SECRE7"S OF THE SANCTUM. 

" Over two thousand." 

" How many will there be admitted ? " 

"Only about thirty-five, including the Sheriff's jury, regular 
officials and members of the press. ' ' 

" How is the old man this morning? " 

" Pretty nervous." 

" Did he eat any breakfast? " 

"Yes, a couple of boiled eggs, a baked potato or two, and 
some bread and butter, with a cup of coffee. He really eat 
with some appetite." 

" He '11 be hanged at the time you mentioned yesterday? " 

"Yes; eleven o'clock, or very soon after." 

It was now half-past ten. I entered the door, which was 
closed and secured behind me, and being familiar with the 
interior of the prison, where my duties had called me more than 
once before, I ascended a flight of steps, turned to the right and 
entered a small room in which visitors were received. When I 
stood in this room the Warden's office was on my right ; on my 
left a door led into the guard-room, a spacious and well-lighted 
apartment from whose iron-barred windows surveillance could 
be kept over the prison-yard, and from which every door and 
window in the workshops could be seen. Several stout attend- 
ants were in this room, and a dozen loaded muskets standing 
in a rack near them, suggested that they were prepared to quell 
a possible insurrection by rigorous measures. 

After merely glancing into the guard-room, I opened the 
door of the Warden's office, and went in. He was a gray- 
haired little man, with as kind a heart as ever beat anywhere in 
the State, and through a period of many years he had managed 
hundreds of the worst of men, without once finding it neces- 
sary to resort to the use of those frowning muskets, or to any 
other very harsh measure. Firm as he was kind of heart, he 



THE GALLOWS. 259 

"went the right way about it," and every convict under his 
charge learned to like him simultaneously with learning that he 
must obey him, do his duty and submit to the rules. 

The old Warden was clothed in black, and as I shook hands 
with him he looked at me through his spectacles with an ex- 
pression of sadness he might have worn if he had just "dressed 
up" to attend the funeral of a lamented person. He spoke in 
a low tone, and there was a general air of " solemn stillness " 
in the rooms that reminded me of a funeral occasion. 

"I left him a few minutes ago," he said, referring to the 
doomed man, who had been in his charge a long while, "and I 
could not help feeling pretty bad." 

"How so, Warden?" 

"Well, he said to me: 'God bless you, Warden. Wicked 
as I have been, you have always treated me as kindly as you 
could, and I '11 think of you with gratitude as I drop from the 
scaffold ! ' I tell you, Mr. , I could n't help feeling bad ! " 

His low voice quivered slightly as he said this, and his eyes 
had that peculiar glistening that denotes no dearth of moisture. 

"How did he rest last night?" I asked, barely above a 
whisper. 

" Very well. He fell asleep just at midnight, and never woke 
till half-past five this morning." 

" Do you think he has the nerve to die bravely? " 

" I have my doubts, although I have done all I can to cheer 
him up. I spoke to him this morning about it, and told him 
to try and meet his fate like a man ; and he looked up at me, 
with the tears ready to start from his eyes, and said he : ' I '11 
try to; but, Warden, you know it'll be a pretty hard walk 
across that guard-room.' I think so, too." 

This had reference to the location of the gallows, which had 
been erected in the corridor of the main building, the platform 



260 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM 

i 

on a level with the floor of the guard-room. The doomed man 
was in the hospital awaiting his final hour, having been taken 
from his cell and placed there in order that its less gloomy sur- 
roundings might have as good an influence as possible upon his 
nerves. The hospital was an apartment adjoining the guard- 
room at the end opposite to that at which the scaffold was 
erected. 

I looked around me and saw a dozen or fifteen people I knew, 
among them the Sheriff. Poor fellow, I pitied him, for he had 
a disagreeable duty to perform. He came over to me, on tip- 
toe, and with uncovered head, shook hands with me, and the 
ordinary greetings were exchanged in low tones. He was very 
pale. 

Others — members of the press, Sheriffs jurymen, the prison 
physician, an official or two — were gliding about as noiselessly 
as specters in the Warden's office, the reception-room, and the 
guard-room, now and then exchanging a word or two 'in whis- 
pers. There seemed to be in everything around us, in the 
rooms, the walls, the very air, some gloomy sense of the awful 
scene upon which we were soon to look. Death itself seemed 
hovering over the prison-walls, like a shadow, sending an icy 
chill through rooms, and stairway and corridor. 

I went into the guard-room, and there felt the same cold still- 
ness that seemed to pervade everything, and on the faces of the 
attendants themselves there was a look of solemnity such as they 
might have worn if the great Day of Judgment had just dawned. 
I stood a moment by one of the well-guarded windows, looking 
out over the prison-yard toward the workshops, through whose 
long rows of windows I could see the convicts at work ; and I 
noticed that the sky was slightly clouded, and the daylight fell 
down within the prison walls with a leaden gloom. 

The door leading from the guard-room into the hospital 



THE GALLOWS. 26 1 

• 

opened, and a man and woman came out, passed through the 
reception-room and descended the flight of steps leading to the 
iron door at which I had entered the prison-walls. They were 
the son and daughter of the doomed man, and had just taken 
leave of him forever and ever. I scarcely noticed him ; but 
she was dressed in black, and was crying. . This was an im- 
measurably harder sight for me to look upon than the hanging 
of the murderer. I caught just one faint glimpse of her face 
through the folds of a thick black vail ; then I turned and again 
gazed out over the dull prison -yard, and at the rows of windows 
in the walls of the workshops. 

When they were gone, and I could hear their quiet footsteps 
upon the flight of steps leading out of those sad walls, I moved 
away from the window, with my face turned from that hospital 
door, from which the miserable wretch must soon be led. Be- 
fore me was an open door, leading to the corridor. A step or 
two brought me upon its threshold and immediately before me 
was that frightful instrument of death — the Gallows. Its plat- 
form was a dozen feet above the cold stone floor of the corridor, 
with its rows of cells, and about seven feet above the platform, 
supported by heavy upright timbers on either side of the struc- 
ture was the "beam," from which the horrible noose hung. 
The rope had been passed over a pulley fixed in a mortise in the 
beam, and while the end hanging down had been writhed into 
a " hangman's knot," the other end was made fast to a cleat on 
the upright timber on the right-hand side, the length having 
been carefully calculated to allow the proper fall. A wooden 
railing three or four feet high surrounded the platform, except 
that an open space was left where the prisoner was to step upon 
the platform when he should pass from the guard-room door. 

In the center, immediately under the noose, was the trap- 
door. It was of thick plank, like the platform itself, about 



262 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

m 

two feet square, and so supported exactly on a level with the 
platform that one might scarcely have noticed it unless he had 
been looking for it. One side was secured to the platform by 
heavy iron hinges, while the other rested upon the end of an 
iron bolt, to which was attached a contrivance so connected 
with the "spring," which projected above the platform, that a 
pressure thereon would instantly draw the bolt and let the trap 
fall. Beneath, a cord was attached to a staple driven into the 
trap near where it was supported by the bolt, and this run over 
a pulley at the rear of the scaffold — that side toward the guard- 
room — and a weight attached, so that the door would not 
swing back and forth after being released from that fearful 
hatchway. The whole structure was very massive, the timbers 
being as heavy as would be used in framing an ordinary cottage, 
and all, including the platform, was freshly painted a bright 
blue. It was but a step from the guard-room door to the scaf- 
fold, there being between them a space of about two feet, 
occupied by a platform from which ramified stairways and 
elevated bridges leading to the various tiers of cells and to the 
stone floor of the corridor. 

One by one the remainder of the spectators arrived, and, 
like their predecessors, glided about as noiselessly as specters, 
now and then gathering in little groups about the Warden or 
Sheriff, asking questions in low tones that were replied to in 
whispers. It was a strange and awful silence that reigned within 
those gloomy walls. 

Eleven o'clock began to draw near, and eyes wandered fre- 
quently toward the hospital-door. The Sheriff went in to in- 
form the doomed man that his time was at hand, and that he 
must make his final preparations for death. He came out pale 
and nervous, and whispered a few words to the Warden. 

Again the door opened, and the Chaplain, a pale, sickly- 



THE GALLOWS. 263 

looking man, came out and whispered to the Warden and 
Sheriff. He had been praying for the last time with the guilty 
wretch, and there were tears in his eyes. 

The Sheriff made a sign to his jury, and the Warden con- 
ducted them to the door at the scaffold, and pointed into the 
corridor. They then filed out, descended a few steps to the 
right, and instead of going down a longer flight to the floor, 
they walked out upon a bridge that was on a level with the 
floors of the second tier of cells, and took their positions. 
The members of the press and a few other spectators then filed 
through the door, descended to the stone floor and ranged 
themselves along in front of the scaffold. The number being 
so limited, it was easy for every one to get a "desirable" 
position. 

I stood directly in front of the gallows, and distant from it 
about fifteen feet. Now that we were at its base, and looked 
up at it, it appeared more horrid than before. If I had seen it 
without knowing its purpose, it might not have looked par- 
ticularly impressive ; but, knowing, it seemed to me to loom up 
like some gigantic thing of life, some destroying monster, 
whose impulses were fierce and pitiless. The very timbers had 
a venomous look, and I half fancied them contaminating to the 
touch ; the railing about the platform suggested to my mind the 
coil of the boa-constrictor, closing upon and crushing its victim ; 
the beam, with the noose hanging from its center, seemed to 
look down upon the little party of grave spectators with a frown 
that was almost human. 

The silence was intensified. Not a word was breathed by 
the waiting spectators. There was not so much as the shuffling 
of a foot upon the cold stone floor. Breathing itself seemed 
for awhile suspended, and we stood there like a group of 
statuary. 



264 SECRETS OE THE SANCTUM, 

I looked up and beyond the scaffold ; saw two prison-guards 
standing by the guard-room door ; saw the heads and shoulders 
of the Sheriff and two deputies ; saw them all looking toward 
the hospital-door, which was not quite visible from where we 
stand ; fancied a slight sound somewhere above us and beyond 
the scaffold ; a cold breath of air seemed to stir through the 
corridor, and I felt the near presence of the tragedy. My eyes 
were fixed on the guard-room door. Before me yet is that 
breathless scene ; the statue-like spectators ; the frowning gal- 
lows ; the beam, the hideous noose, the guard-room door. 

I saw the Sheriff raise his right hand ; noticed a slight move- 
ment among the group of five at the guard-room door ; then, 
as they stood on either side, there appeared the Warden and 
Deputy-Warden, and between them — a face. 

Such a face I had never before looked upon. I had seen 
death in almost every form j I had seen the ashen and distorted 
features of the dead, who had died amid pain and terror j but 
never a face like that of the man who found himself step- 
ping out upon that frightful scaffold to be hanged by the neck, 
killed, and so to pass into Eternity ! 

The face was clean-shaven, according to the prison rules ; it 
was thin and cadaverous ; it was wrinkled, and ashy pale ; the 
features worked and writhed into hideous contortions, as the 
wretched man struggled with his inward horror, and tried to 
choke down his emotions ; the gray eyes had turned almost 
white; the lids were distended; and the face looked around 
upon the assembled men on the bridge and on the stone floor 
below with such a startled, frightened stare, — such a wild ex- 
pression of terror, and helplessness, and despair, — such a look 
of shrinking and amazement, especially when his starting eyes 
took in the beam and noose, — that it required nerve to look on 
and not be sickened down to the bottom of the heart. 



THE GALLOWS. 265 

The Warden formally turned over his prisoner to the Sheriff, 
and the latter walked out upon the scaffold, followed by his two 
deputies, who led the murderer between them. His wrists, 
crossing each other, were already bound together, giving him 
an appearance of utter helplessness, and his knees trembled so 
violently that I expected to see them give way, his legs double 
up and himself fall upon the platform, a quivering mass of 
human terror. But he stood, half supported by the Sheriff's 
deputies, while the latter placed his feet squarely upon the center 
of the trap, the noose dangling at his right ear. 

Following him came the Chaplain, paler than ever, and, in 
the goodness of his heart, he whispered a last word of hope in 
the ear of the quaking wretch, then retired to a corner of the 
scaffold near the guard-room door. There he placed an elbow 
upon the railing, and I could see his white lips moving. 

The Warden, Deputy- Warden and two attendants stood at 
the door. 

The Sheriff's deputies bound the prisoner firmly at the ankles 
and knees, and secured his elbows close to his sides by fasten- 
ing them to a strap which they passed around his back and 
buckled tightly. Then one of them drew over that face, and 
shut out from those staring eyes the light of day for ever, the 
" black cap " — a sack, rather than a cap, as it was half as large 
as an ordinary pillow-case. The folds of this dropped down to 
the breast, and hid the face — that picture of horror — from 
the view of the spectators. Being dressed in a black suit, the 
figure now presented a somber appearance, indeed. 

Then the other Sheriff's deputy adjusted the noose, slightly lift- 
ing the pendent folds of the " black cap," so that the cord should 
press upon the bare neck. At its touch the murderer started, 
and trembled so violently that I thought he must fall. But he 
did not, and all was ready. Once more, a deputy gently placed 
23 



266 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, to put him in the exact 
position desired, then withdrew it ; while the other examined 
the rope to see that all was clear, and that it would run freely- 
over the pulley when the trap should be sprung. Then they 
stepped aside, one to the right and the other to the left, and he 
stood alone, confronting Eternity. He had not uttered a word, 
except to say in a tremulous whisper, while they were pinioning 
him : " Don't tie me so tight." These were his last words. 

I looked at a clock that was fixed upon the wall near the 
scaffold. It was four minutes past eleven. 

The Sheriff, who stood by the front railing, near the spring, 
drew from his pocket the death-warrant, and broke the silence 
by reading it in quivering tones that went rolling along with a 
hollow sound through the stone-bound corridor, and dying away 
in the distance. Slowly he read, while the poor wretch stood 
helplessly awaiting his fate ; and finally — it was eight minutes 
past eleven — came the words : 

"And now, I command you, the said , to deliver up your 

body to me, the said High Sheriff of R County , that I may 

execute the sentence of the law. ' ' 

A half-second of death-like silence, and I saw the Sheriff's 
right foot move. It was pressed upon the iron spring. 

There was a sharp crash, as the trap-door swung down against 
a "rest" toward the rear of the scaffold intended to receive 
the shock, and I saw a black figure dart down beneath the plat- 
form, like the great iron weight of a pile-driver. But it did not 
descend to the floor. It stopped suddenly in mid-air, with its 
head just below the platform, swayed to and fro a few inches, as 
a sack of corn suspended by a rope might have done, then was 
perfectly motionless. 

The knot was at the back of the neck, and the head, covered 
with the black cap, drooped forward until the chin rested upon 



THE GALLOWS. 267 

the breast. The neck had been broken ; not a muscle twitched ; 
and the body of the murderer hung as inanimate and motion- 
less as the sack of corn to which it has been likened. Sus- 
pended there above the earth, with that black pall over the dis- 
torted features, it was the very personification of death. 

There was a hush, and for a few seconds all were as silent 
as the walls themselves; then the prison physician and an 
assistant mounted upon chairs upon either side of the 
pendent figure and noted the pulsations so soon to cease for- 
ever. The pulse continued to beat perceptibly, with wild fluc- 
tuations, for a period of seventeen minutes, the physician, watch 
in hand, announcing its condition at the end of each minute : 
" Forty-eight " — " Forty-five " — " Forty-five " — "A hundred 
and thirteen " — "A hundred and forty-two " — " Eighty-one " 

— " Sixty- four "-—and so on, down to — "Very feeble" — 
" Six "— " Three "— " Heart fluttering slightly "—then — 

"Dead." 

I hurried up the steps, once more passed the platform with its 
open hatchway, glided through the guard-room, the reception- 
room, hurried down the entry-stairs, and out into the frosty 
February air. Crowds of curious people accosted me with, 
"Is he hung?" "Is he dead?" " How did he act ?" and the 
like. I replied with a word, sprang into a carriage that awaited 
me and was whirled away with the speed of an express train. 

The vehicle stopped in front of the office door, and I jumped 
out upon the sidewalk and flew up-stairs. I had already written 

— and it had been put in type — a skeleton description of the 
hanging, as I expected it to be ; I quickly made a few altera- 
tions ; put in a few additional lines, no one compositor setting 
more than a line ; it was hurried together ; the form locked up 
and thrown upon the press ; and in five minutes more the news- 
boys were screaming in the street : 



268 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

" Here 's your Extra ! All about the execution ! All about 
the confession ! Horrible crimes S " ■ 

And so our paper, giving an account of the hanging of the 
murderer, was fluttering in the wind before his body was cold. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

"TRICKS OF THE TRADE." 



THE power of the press, for good or evil, cannot well be 
over-rated. The newspapers of the country, as elsewhere 
remarked, constitute a kind of perpetual school, in which 
people keep on learning after they have arrived at maturity and 
passed out of the hands of the schoolmaster ; and so they con- 
tinue to learn, all their lives, for the pupils of the school of the 
press do not graduate and leave it, as they may leave a college 
when they have learned all that is within it taught. There then 
could be no greater public calamity than the degrading of the 
character of the press, or the destruction or material abridg- 
ment of its freedom would be. Its natural tendency is to do 
good, rather than evil ; to advocate truth, rather than error ; 
and it is its province largely to mold and wholly reflect the 
opinions and sentiments of the populace. So, its mission is 
one of incalculable importance. Orators may have a temporary 
influence over excited assemblages, may inflame and mislead 
them ; but it behooves the newspaper to be careful and truth- 
ful, and to reach correct conclusions by the most direct routes, 
for it speaks to its audience in quiet homes and in moments of 
sober thought. 

As I am relating some "Secrets of the Sanctum," while I 



" TRICKS OF THE TRADE." 269 

wish to avoid anything approaching a violation of confidence, 
I don't mind giving one or two incidents in my own experience 
illustrating the power of a newspaper, and showing what an 
engine it may be made for either good or evil — in these cases 
for good, I trust, as was certainly intended. 

In San Francisco there are tolerated — or were at one time 
— abuses that would not be tolerated in any other large city in 
this country or in Europe. When I lived in that city it was not 
unusual for a man to gallop along on horseback, through the 
most crowded thoroughfares, at the rate of from fifteen to 
twenty miles an hour. Of course people were frequently run 
over and killed, but that did not seem to strike the authorities 
as at all prejudicial to the public interests. 

Another peculiarity of San Francisco was the considerable 
number of saddle-horses daily to be found standing on the 
crowded sidewalks. They were horses upon which people 
living a little way out of the city daily rode in for the purpose 
of transacting business, and were hitched to iron posts that 
stood at short intervals along the curb-stone. No sooner would 
the sagacious horse find himself secured to the post than he 
would begin to think, like the Caucasian race, of "bettering 
his condition." Taking a calm view of the moist gutter in 
which he stood, and of the. clean, smooth asphaltum sidewalk, 
he would very readily detect the superiority of the latter as a 
place to stand, and so would begin slowly to describe an arc of 
a circle, of which the hitching-post was the center, like a ship 
swinging round on her anchor at the turning of the tide j and 
one minute after his master left him would find him standing 
squarely across the sidewalk, with his nose toward the street, his 
ears laid back on his mane, and his tail switching around within 
two or three feet of a plate-glass jewelry window or broker's 
door. Streams of pedestrians were continually passing, dodg- 
23* 



2 JO SECRETS OE THE SANCTUM. 

ing around the said tail, always in peril of getting a stunning 
kick on the shins from the iron-shod feet of the animal with its 
ears laid back ; and nobody seemed to think that there was 
anything wrong about it. Occasionally some good-natured 
pedestrian would give the horse a friendly slap on the rump, 
say, "Look out, old fellow," and pass on amid the throng; 
and the animal merely put on a smiling countenance, laid his 
ears back a little flatter, and looked merely a trifle more in the 
notion of kicking out among the knees and shins of the pedes- 
trians, just for fun. 

These are only examples of the extraordinary practices famil- 
iar in the most crowded streets (notably Montgomery and 
Kearny) of San Francisco, a city of two hundred thousand 
inhabitants. It was easily accounted for by the fact that the 
city had grown so rapidly that it had yet scarcely had time to 
measure itself, to realize its proportions, and to throw off the 
habits of a Mexican village ; but what would be thought of such 
things in Broadway, New York ; Chestnut Street, Philadelphia ; 
Washington Street, Boston ; Fourth Street, St. Louis ; or Clark 
Street, Chicago? 

Among other nuisances tolerated in the streets of San Fran- 
cisco, and which seemed rather pleasing to the municipal 
authorities than otherwise, were Chinamen carrying their bas- 
kets on the sidewalks. While I never regarded the Chinese as 
a desirable element of our population, I think I did not view 
them with unreasonable prejudice, and I do not believe that a 
dislike of them was at all accountable for my aversion to their 
carrying their baskets along the sidewalks. As not every one 
is familiar with these people and their habits, a few words of 
explanation will be entirely in place. 

The Chinese Mongol does not carry his burden in the man- 
ner of the Caucasian. He is never seen with a sack on his 



" TRICKS OF THE TRADE." 2? I 

shoulder or a basket on his arm, or propelling a load of vege- 
tables along the street in a push-cart or wheel -barrow. What- 
ever he carries he manages to divide into two nearly equal 
parts, and places each in a large basket, generally of the capa- 
city of a bushel or a bushel and a half. Each basket has a 
strong cord attached to it, in the manner of a bucket-bail ; and 
the cords so attached to the two baskets of the Chinaman are 
slung over opposite ends of a bamboo pole six or eight feet 
long, which is balanced upon his shoulder, the pole usually at 
an angle of ten or fifteen degrees from the line of his course ; 
and so the bearer of the burdens rushes along at a monotonous 
" dog-trot " in the direction of his destination. 

It will be readily seen that these large, rough baskets, often 
with splinters sticking out in all directions, rushing along over 
the crowded sidewalks, were no trifling annoyance to pedes- 
trians, and it was my opinion that they ought to be banished 
from the sidewalks and obliged to take the street, like carts and 
wheel-barrows. So strongly was I impressed with the equity 
of such a proposition, that I published in the Enunciator an 
article deprecating the nuisance in strong terms, and calling 
upon the Board of Supervisors to pass an ordinance abating it. 
This might not have attracted the necessary amount of atten- 
tion in desirable quarters, but I resolved that the article should 
go and be seen "where it would do the most good." I there- 
fore sent a copy of the Enunciator, with the article marked, to 
each member of the Board of Supervisors, and also to each 
of those gentlemen a note something like the following: 

San Francisco, February 4, 18 — . 
Sir: — We send you, by this mail, a copy of the Enunciator contain- 
ing an article in reference to the nuisance of Chinese carrying their large 
baskets along the sidewalks. We believe that, together with that journal, 
we are justified in demanding their removal to the street; and we earnestly 
request that you introduce an ordinance at the next meeting of the Board 



272 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

of Supervisors, compelling persons carrying bulky burdens along on poles 
to take the street, in common -with push-carts and wheel-barrows. This is 
earnestly wished by Many of Your Constituents. 

At the next meeting of the Board, an ordinance to this 
effect was introduced and passed by a unanimous vote. A fine 
of five dollars was fixed as the penalty for every violation of the 
ordinance. The measure attracted considerable attention, and 
was almost universally commended. In a short time a number 
of Chinese who disregarded the ordinance were arrested and 
fined ; till at last the Mongols, or some party in their interest, 
engaged a lawyer, made a test-case, and appealed it, on the 
grounds of unconstitutionality. The case went to a higher 
court than the municipal court, and finally reached the Supreme 
Court of the State of California, where, in accordance with 
what seemed to me the clearest rules of right, the ordinance 
was sustained. So, ever afterward, the Chinese with their 
clumsy baskets took the street, where they belonged, in com- 
mon with push-carts and wheel-barrows. 

About the same time there was a company of supposed capi- 
talists (calling themselves the "Lower California Company") 
attempting to establish a colony at Magdalena Bay, about the 
only considerable harbor of Lower California, which province 
belongs to Mexico, by offering great inducements to emigrants, 
making representations of the extraordinary fertility of the soil, 
the salubrity of the climate, and promising to " give every man 
a valuable farm " who should emigrate to Magdalena Bay and 
settle in that vicinity. 

I knew enough of Lower California to feel astonished at these 
statements, which were advertised broadcast through California, 
and upon making a careful and pointed investigation I dis- 
covered that the "Company" had a selfish end in view; and 
never was it more clearly exemplified that "'corporations have 



"TRICKS OF THE TRADE." 273 

no souls." This "Lower California Company" had received 
a grant of land at Magdalena Bay from the Mexican Govern- 
ment, but accompanied with the condition that, to make the 
grant permanent, a colony of at least one thousand settlers must 
be established there within a given time, and the end of that 
period of time was by no means distant. Now, the " Com- 
pany" valued the grant chiefly because a valuable article of 
commerce — orchilla moss, from which a substance much used 
in dyeing is extracted — was to be obtained at the Bay in great 
abundance ; and, with a deliberate cruelty rarely equaled, made 
efforts to induce people to go there and settle, purely to make 
valid their grant, well knowing that the soil was as sterile as a 
powder-horn, that the landscape was one vast expanse of sand 
and cactus, and that to go there and "settle" was to sit down 
and court starvation. The " Company," I learned upon in- 
quiry, looked deeper still into the future than the mere accumu- 
lation of a million dollars or so from their orchilla moss — their 
wilder ambition being one day to sell out their claim, after 
getting a firm grip upon it, to the United States Government 
for an enormous sum, hoping that the latter party would buy it 
with an eye to eventual annexation. It must be confessed that 
the "Company's" ambitions in this direction were not un- 
reasonable in the light of such an atmosphere of jobbery as has 
of late years hovered over the Congress of the United States. 
Credit Mobilier — Pacific Mail — Well, that 's off the subject. 

Learning beyond any reasonable doubt what the* state of 
things was, I deemed it my duty to put a stop to the business, 
and determined to do so if there was power enough in a single 
weekly newspaper to do it. To that end, in peril of a libel 
suit with a "wealthy corporation " as plaintiff, I published in 
the Enunciator a complete exposition of the scheme, com- 
plaining particularly of the " Company's " ambition ultimately 



274 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

to sell out its grant to the United States, and descanting upon 
the great probability that such a consummation would involve 
the friendly relations of our country and Mexico ; and, indeed, 
I was as earnest then as I am now in my opposition to any 
scheme having for its object the success of stupendous jobbery 
under the guise of "acquisition of territory." Copies of the 
Enunciator, with this article carefully marked, I sent by mail 
to all the leading public men and journalists of Mexico, from 
President Benito Juarez down, including all the Governors of 
States, etc. , having obtained a list of their names and addresses 
in Spanish from the Mexican Consul in San Francisco. The 
result was, that the subject attracted immediate attention, and 
all Mexico was excited to such a degree that before three 
months the Government was constrained to revoke its grant of 
Magdalena Bay, the " colony " was broken up and the " Com- 
pany " banished from that " fertile " soil. How a proposition 
looking to the cession of any of their territory to the United 
States would strike the minds of Mexicans, may be judged from 
the following extract from an editorial which subsequently 
appeared i/a the Diaro, an official organ published in the City 
of Mexico : 

The Mexican people have always regarded with indignation any idea of 
a cession of a part, even an inch, of their territory, and to-day the public 
man who should propose such a thing would not even be judged as a crim- 
inal, but we should hand him over to the medical fraternity as a case of 
extreme lunacy. Such is our conviction, and such is the conviction of all 
Mexicans.* This Government has not made, nor will it ever admit, propo- 
sitions for parting with a single jot of the territory of the nation. All the 
press of Mexico will unite in declaring the report to the opposite effect, 
which originated on the Pacific Coast, to be entirely without foundation. 

That the statements of the Enunciator were perfectly correct 
was afterward fully verified. Nor did any libel suit result. 
Indeed, some persons connected with the nefarious scheme 



"TRICKS OF THE TRADE." 275 

were glad to get away with their necks. The remnant of the 
"colonists" (many having died of starvation) arrived at San 
Francisco, one day, having come all the way on foot — a dis- 
tance of six hundred miles ; and the stories they told of their 
sufferings fully confirmed the expose in the Enunciator, and ex- 
emplified the perfidy of the " Company." 

While residing in the suburbs of San Francisco, my neigh- 
bors (as well as myself) were at one time greatly pestered by 
goats, and other domesticated animals, which were continually 
leaping fences and demolishing the vines, flowers and shrub- 
bery of lawns and gardens. Inspired by this sad state of things, 
bordering on vandalism, and urged by my neighbors, who 
thought that the Pound-Keeper ought to look after the matter, 
I published the following in the Enunciator : 

LINES TO THE POUND-MAN. 

Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 
Why not come around, man ? 
The dogs and cats are running wild 
As ever they were found, man. 

Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 
Where may you be found, man? 
If you 're within a fortnight's walk 

I 'd think you 'd hear the sound, man. 

Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 
Hung, or shot, or drowned, man, 
Should be a hundred beasts I know 
That daily prowl around, man. 

Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 
Goats are on my ground, man; 
They nip my roses, vines and grass, 
Wherever they are found, man. 

Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 
Goats do most abound, man ; 
They jump my gate, they leap my fence, 
As easy as a hound, man. 



2/6 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 
Cows are bawling round, man ; 
They break down all my gates and clear 
My palings at a bound, man. 

Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 
Pigs root up my mound, man ; 
They wallow in my " tater-vines," 
With ugly, grunting sound, man. 



Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 
Cries of cats resound, man; 
I shoot at them with deadly aim, 
But not one can I wound, man. 

Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 

List to what is sound, man ; 

These creatures drive a fellow mad — 

They utterly confound, man. 

Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 
If you 'd be renowned, man, 
Come free the suburbs of this plague, 
And you '11 be, I '11 be bound, man. 

Pound-man ! Pound-man ! 
Credit won't redound, man, 
To you in your position if 

You don't soon come around, man. 

As exemplifying the power and influence of a newspaper, I 
was visited on the next day after the publication of the fore- 
going doggerel by a stranger, who said his name was Bean, 
and that he was the City Pound-man. When he said this, I 
very naturally concluded that he had come in for the purpose 
of shooting me, and was just making up my mind to sell my 
life as dearly as possible, when he proceeded to state his case in 
such a courteous way as made me see at a glance that he was 
not insensible of the dignity of the press. 

"I just came in," he said, "to ask if I can do anything to 
relieve you. I think my force really is too small, and there 



" TRICKS OF THE TRADE." 2 "7 

are some quarters of the city that we cannot help neglecting at 
times. Where is it you live, Mr. ? " 

"Sanchez Street, beyond the Mission," I replied. 

"Ah, then I see why you are so much annoyed," said he. 
" That is beyond our bounds. We have no authority to go 
further south than Sixteenth Street, and I don't wonder that 
you have been worried. The bounds ought to be extended, 
and our force increased." 

" It does look so," said I. 

"Well," he rejoined, "you sha' n't be troubled any more, if 
I can help it. I have steadily read your paper for the last two 
years, and like it ; and as I believe you are doing good with it, 
I will take the responsibility of extending my territory so far as 
to see that you are not much annoyed by goats and cows in the 
future." 

I thanked him cordially; and I afterward discerned a 
pleasing scarcity of goats in the vicinity of my suburban home. 
The power of the press must have searching ramifications when 
even the pigs and goats feel and respect it. 

While conducting the Enuncialor, I did all in my power to 
make it an instrument for the promotion of the public good, as 
I think it is the duty of every journalist to do with his paper ; 
and I think I succeeded in this more than once, however sig- 
nally I may have failed to make it an instrument of good to 
myself. In addition to what is above recounted, and some 
other little things I have not the space to mention, I think that 
reckless riding and driving in the streets assumed smaller pro- 
portions, and accidents therefrom became less frequent, owing 
to* articles published in the Enunciator, calling public attention 
to these abuses. I know that good was done in this regard, so 
far as one person was concerned. He was an "eccentric 
divine," whose sermons I had more than once severely criti- 
24 



278 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

cised in the Enunciator. His church was always crowded, — 
not, 1 fear, by people who went there with feelings of solemnity 
and with wishes to be made better during the coming week 
than they had been during the preceding week, but who were 
rather drawn thither by a spirit of curiosity ; because it got to 
be pretty well known that, ^especially during the Sunday even- 
ing sermons, the reverend gentleman was very mirthful in his 
ways, and that bursts of laughter and the clapping of hands by 
way of applause were the rule rather than the exception. 

One day I was crossing one of the principal streets, and came 
within about three-quarters of an inch of being run over (and 
of course killed) by a horse that galloped along at a furious rate. 
I only escaped serious bodily harm by making a convulsive and 
very undignified scramble for the nearest curb-stone, losing my 
hat in the operation, which useful article of attire was promptly 
run over and crushed by one of Wells, Fargo & Co.'s express 
wagons ; and on looking after the equestrian who constituted 
the burden of the fleet animal, and who had directed it through 
the thronged streets at such a reckless pace, I discovered that 
it was no other than that same "eccentric divine." I knew 
him and he knew me by sight, and I will be charitable enough 
to believe that he did not purposely try to gallop over me 
because of my wicked criticisms of his sermons ; but neverthe- 
less I thought that a man of his " cloth " ought not to go gal- 
loping along in that way. I never thought "personal journal- 
ism ' ' the proper thing ; yet there are persons who sometimes 
thrust themselves upon public notice in such a manner that they 
make legitimate news items of themselves ; and on this occasion 
I felt that I was justified in referring to the "divine's" habit 
of fast riding, which had more than once before attracted my 
notice. This I did in the Enunciator in terms little short of 
"libelous," giving his full name and comparing him un favor- 



« TRICKS OF THE TRADE." 279 

ably with a regular horse-jockey, as he deserved ; and the result 

was — not a libel suit, but that the Rev. Mr. S , who of 

course read the article, as I afterward learned, felt it so keenly 
that he never again rode through the busy thoroughfares of San 
Francisco "faster than a walk," as the bridge notice says. 
Probably a life was saved by his "change of heart" in this 
regard, and if so it was the happiness of the Enunciator to do 
some good at least. 

In the more prosperous days of that journal's career, a vigor- 
ous rivalry once sprang up between it and another weekly paper 
published in the same city. Each paper was always "running" 
a serial story, and of course every effort was made by each to 
"beat" the other in securing a "bang-up" good romance. 
In those days we had scarcely any novelists in California, and 
had to depend on more distant sources for our stories — some- 
times buying them from Eastern authors, sometimes " stealing " 
them from European papers, as, in the absence of an interna- 
tional copyright law, we had a perfect legal and reciprocal right 
to do. 

On one occasion a remarkable coincidence occurred : both 
papers began on the same day to publish the same story, which 
was taken from the London Journal. As neither one could 
make the story better than the other, the only end now aimed 
at by each, in the spirit of emulation, was to publish more of 
the story in each installment than its rival. The amount of 
the story published in each number of the London Journal as 
it came to hand made a fair installment in the Enunciator and 
in its rival ; and as neither could publish more each week than 
the Journal itself contained, the two papers kept even for some 
weeks ; and the fact that they contained just the same portions 
of the story each week began to attract attention, as the rivalry 
between the two journals was pretty well known to the public. 



2 SO SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

At last an ill-fated week came, and brought with it a terrible 
exigence. My London Journal, which I had theretofore re- 
ceived regularly by mail, failed to come to hand. It might 
have been the fault of the mails, or of the person whose duty it 
was to mail it, or it might have been owing to the carelessness 
of the boy whom I sent to the Post-office for my papers ; but the 
stern fact remained the same : it had not come ; it had missed. 
Wild with apprehension, I made the rounds of the various news- 
dealers' establishments, and asked each if he had a copy of the 
London Journal he could spare just as well as not. I asked in 
a very careless way, of course, although I would gladly have 
given two hundred and fifty dollars for one. None of them 
kept it at all. There was probably but one copy in San 
Francisco, and that was in the hands of the rival editor. 
It of course could not have been secured, except through the 
exercise of a bit of petty larceny, and, although I won't say 
what the temptation of " opportunity " s might have induced me 
to do, I entertained no hope in that direction. To copy the 
next installment from the rival sheet and publish it one week 
later would be to send that paper a dozen lengths ahead of the 
Enunciator in the estimation of the hundreds of people who 
read both papers. What then was to be done ? 

I went back to the office on the verge of despair. I sat down 
and meditated. I could not convince myself that suicide was 
exactly the right thing, but the necessity for my ever having 
been born in the first place was in my mind very equivocal and 
indistinct. If some merciful angel in the form of the cholera 
or small-pox had come around and carried me away to the cem- 
etery in a creditable manner, I could have rejoiced ; but there I 
was, ruddy, robust, strong, with an appetite like an ostrich, and 
no prospect of a speedy and honorable death ; and so some- 
thing had to be done. Just in my gloomiest pitch of despair 






"TRICKS OF THE TRADE." 28 1 

a thought struck me. It was suggested by the very desperate- 
ness of the situation. I must write an imaginary continuation 
of the story. But here was a difficulty. Persons who saw 
both papers would discover a marked difference, as the irrecon- 
cilable heads of chapters must immediately strike the eye. The 
real story might in the very next chapter kill an important char- 
acter, while I might guess wrong as to what was in store for 
him and treat the same character to a "streak of good luck," 
such, for example, as being awarded a contract for street-paving. 
Besides, it would not only be irreconcilable with the contempo- 
rary installment in our rival, but also with the remainder of the 
story, which probably had not yet been half published. A few 
minutes' active thought resulted in suggesting a way out of the 
difficulty. The plan was to write a long chapter that would be 
such a complete episode that it could not possibly be affected by 
anything that might come after it. 

I consulted the preceding installment, and found that the hero 
had been left in a gloomy wood, on his way to a lonely house 
two miles distant, where he expected to rescue the heroine from 
several desperate characters who had been hired to abduct her 
by a wealthy but villainous rival, whose object was to frighten 
her into marrying him, instead of the hero. I deemed that it 
could do no possible injury to the thread of the story to treat 
him to a ghost on the way, and I accordingly "pitched in," 
and wrote a chapter of five-and-a-half columns, setting forth 
the following " facts: " He suddenly saw a light in the deep 
wood a few hundred yards to the right of the road ; thought 
he heard also a smothered cry ; it occurred to him that it might 
be the custodians of the heroine, who were removing her to 
some other place of confinement, to prevent her rescue ; in- 
stantly ran to the spot ; found a deserted log-house ; entered it ; 
saw frequent gleams of strange, bluish lights; heard rappingson 
24* 



282 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

the walls, and wild, weird songs and laughter all around him ; 
house evidently haunted; the door was closed by invisible 
hands ; apparitions issued from the walls and floor, and some 
flew at him with phantom swords ; he finally made his escape, by 
jumping from a window, after an hour of horror, and proceeded on 
his mission. 

The two papers were, as usual, issued on the following Sun- 
day morning, and the result of my bit of handiwork proved 
favorable to the Enunciator, because a subject of general re- 
mark was the " carelessness " of our rival in having overlooked 
and omitted the most absorbing chapter in the story. Years 
afterward, the rival editor and I frequently met on the most 
friendly terms, and, in alluding to our former active emulation, 
he would say : 

"I don't see how I ever missed that ghost-scene. It's the 
strangest thing in the world. I always cut out the Journal 's 
installment myself, and it does not seem possible that I could 
have clipped a portion of an installment, leaving a whole chap- 
ter — so large a chapter as that, too. Yet, I don't see how 
else it could have happened." 

I finally told him the secret, but not until after both papers 
had ceased to exist. 

There is the very essence of competition between newspapers. 
Nothing delights a paper more than to "beat" its contempo- 
raries — that is, secure a piece of important news which they 
have failed to obtain. Such piece of news is called an " exclu- 
sive." I have known of circumstances under which a paper 
would gladly have paid ten thousand dollars for one column of 
news that it might publish six hours in advance of any and all 
other papers in the country. Not that its profits from the 
increased sales of that single issue would anywhere nearly have 
approached this figure, but because such an "exclusive" would 



"TRICKS OF THE TRADE:' 283 

have been "a big card," an advertisement that would have 
been certain to pay in the long run. 

As an illustration, I once walked complacently about the 
streets of a certain little city, carrying in my pocket a bit of 
news, of about two columns, which I was in honor bound not 
to publish before the noon of the following day, and for which 
the sum of five thousand dollars was freely offered by agents of 
papers published in various large cities, over fifty of such agents 
being there. So keen was the search for the document, that I 
deemed it advisable, when night came, to carry a revolver in 
my pocket as a precaution against possible assault — not by a 
newspaper man, but by some ruffian who might have learned of 
its value and suspected that I had it in my possession. That 
night I went to my office at twelve o'clock, when all was quiet, 
and had the article put in type, between that hour and three 
A. m., by two compositors sworn to secrecy; and so I succeeded 
in preserving the document from premature publication, and in 
publishing it sooner and more accurately than any other paper. 

If in this chapter I allude to the fact that a man sometimes 
pays a reporter or editor to suppress a piece of news in which he 
happens to figure in a discreditable light, I do so only to say 
that such transactions are not common, and that they are 
strongly denounced by reputable journals, editors and reporters. 
I have known of such a thing being done, but in its principle 
there is such an odor of blackmailing that it seems to me it 
ought to be classed with "crimes and misdemeanors." 

One day, while I was connected with a Boston daily, an 
elderly man came into the editorial-room, and it may be judged 
by the brief dialogue which ensued that he was a pretty direct 
business man : 

"Are you the editor?" 

"Yes." 



284 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

"Well, I'm William P. Brown, of Salem." 

"Yes?" 

" It was I that was before the Police Court there yesterday, 
and I would n't have my name go into the Boston papers for 
the world. Will you keep it out ? " 

Now, we had no regular reporter in Salem, had sent none 
there, and in any event the little case he mentioned would 
not probably have been alluded to in our columns. However, 
to make him feel as comfortable as possible, and being slightly 
annoyed at the interruption, I told a deliberate fib, saying, 
excitedly : 

"My goodness ! You 're just in time. It would have been 
in type in five minutes more and locked in the form." 

"And it isn't too late?" he said, nervously. 

" No ; rely on it, I shall see that it does not go in." 

"Ah, thank you ! " — putting his hand in his pocket and 
taking out his pocket-book, — "-How much is it? " 

" O, we make no charge for anything like that." 

" Thank you ! Thank you ! " 

And he pocketed his wallet and departed a happier but not 
wiser man. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

HUMORS OF JOURXALISM. 



A WHOLE volume might readily be written on this subject 
alone, and in the present chapter I can only give it, com- 
paratively speaking, a passing notice. It would be a mistake 
to suppose that all journalists are born humorists, although it 
would be no mistake to assume that, taken collectively, they 



HUMORS OF JOURNALISM. 285 

have fully as fine a sense of humor as any other class of people. 
I think, too, that as many funny things occur in a newspaper 
establishment as in any other institution. The very blunders 
made in newspaper work often have an element of fun in them 
not to be found, say, for example, in a carriage-manufactory, 
where the accidental mutilation of a carefully-polished wheel or 
two, through some one's awkwardness, would not be considered 
very provocative of mirth. Yes, and when anything particularly 
good happens in a newspaper establishment it is taken up, and 
"goes the rounds." An awkward expression of an editor, 
however inadvertent; a mistake in "emptying" or "making- 
U P '} " typographic errors of an unusual nature ; these are not 
allowed to rest, if they once "get out," but are "passed 
along," with many appended comments. 

As regards the proposition of the editor making a deliberate 
attempt to be funny, such a thing is never done by any who 
actually do succeed in being funny. An amusing comment 
appended to a two-line news item is always spontaneous, and 
the editor never thinks of its being either witty or amusing. 
For example, here is a paragraph that went the rounds a few 
years ago, and in which there is certainly no great depth of 
humor, but which it is difficult to read for the first time without 
at least smiling : 

A man named Bloat keeps a drinking-saloon in Oakland, California. 
Comment is unnecessary. 

Another is this, which must have been a serious matter to 
somebody : 

A man in Williamsport, Pa., fell dead the other day while combing his 
hair. Yet people will engage in this dangerous practice every day. 

Here is another : 



286 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Be very careful in handling buckwheat flour. A barrel of the dangerous 
stuff exploded in Keokuk, Iowa, a few days ago. 

Another : 

A well-known character, with the sobriquet of " Reddy Johnson," was 
fatally stabbed in St. Louis, the other evening, with a heated poker. Of 
course, Reddy had to have a hot punch. 

Comments like these are added to little news paragraphs 
usually when the editors who make them are actually in a bad 
humor, as may be guessed by their half reckless cynicism ; and 
certainly the editor has no more thought of saying anything 
funny than if he were asking his grocery man how much he 
owed him — a time when no one is likely to assume the atti- 
tude of a humorist. 

Awkward language occasionally used, not by the ignoramus, 
but by editors of experience and ability, is a fruitful source of 
mirth. For example, an Auburn (N. Y.) paper stated not 
long since that there was to be added to one of its institutions 
of learning a building " to accommodate an increased number 
of students two hundred feet long." We have all seen tall 
students, but students with a length of two hundred feet are 
new to most of us. They remind me of a story that is told of 
a tall, slim English gentleman who appeared for the first time 
in society. "Who is that?" a gentleman asked of a lady. 
"That is Mr. Adolphus Bunks. He is intended for the 
church." "Ah? I should think him better calculated for the 
steeple ! " 

Another example of hurried and awkward language is this, 
which has been going the rounds for years, and which, even if 
fictitious, is perfectly natural and not at all incredible : 

A temperance editor, in drawing attention to an article against ardent 
spirits in his paper, says : " For an example of the effects of intemperance 
see our inside ! " 



HUMORS OF JOURNALISM. 287 

The Foreman's occasional blunders in making up are also a 
source of amusement. While publishing the Enunciator in San 
Francisco we had a department of humorous paragraphs, mostly 
clipped from exchanges. On one occasion the Foreman, in 
making up, got a few lines of our market reports mixed up with 
these funny paragraphs, and the effect was little less than ludi- 
crous. Imagine this paragraph "sandwiched in" between a 
first-class conundrum and a side-splitting joke : 

Flour. — Demand active. Sales of good to choice family at $6.75 @. 
$7.00 ; fine Indiana brands, $7.25 @ $7.40 ; California, first quality, $7.50 
@ $8.00, with large demand and an upward tendency. 

A contemporary called attention to this innocent-looking 
blunder, which at the time of its commission did not occur to 
me as being very funny, after the following fashion : 

The Enunciator has every week a column of funny paragraphs, always 
good, but in this department of its last issue we. find something so excep- 
tionally funny that we cannot help quoting it: [Here followed the "flour" 
paragraph.] The point of this joke will of course be readily seen. The 
word " flour," to start with, has a droll, good-natured appearance, and 
strikes the eye as being in an unusually good-humor. Then, " demand 
active " is very neatly put, suggesting an absence of anything like rheuma- 
tism or gout; while " $6.75 @ $7.00" is simply irresistible. "Indiana 
brands" is a peculiarly happy hit ; and certainly no one could have failed 
to roar with laughter when he read, $7.50 @ $8.00, with large demand." 
Our neighbor has a happy faculty of picking up all the "good things" that 
are going. 

It occasionally happens that the Editor, who is clipping little 
paragraphs from exchanges for certain departments of his paper, 
inadvertently pastes it on his copy-paper, with other items, 
wrong-side up. I remember that a proof of my humorous de- 
partment once came to me with this extraordinary paragraph 
standing out boldly, and from all around it : 

This stove is universally pronounced the most durable, the best baker, 
either of loaves, rolls, or muffins, with the least consumption of fuel, of any 
stove or range yet introduced. 



288 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

I saw at a glance that I had evidently pasted a funny para- 
graph on wrong-side up, and that the wrong side so presented 
to the compositor contained a paragraph from an advertisement 
of a patent stove, and of course I marked it " out." 

This mistake of getting the wrong side of a paragraph up is 
illustrated by the following anecdote, of the authenticity of 
which, however, I am not in possession : 

A certain clergyman, reading from the pulpit a number of 
religious announcements one Sabbath, some of which had been 
clipped from newspapers and laid on his stand, unluckily read 
the wrong side of one of the slips, which happened to contain 
this advertisement of the business establishment of a prominent 
member of the church : 

Boots! Boots! Shoes! Shoes! — George S. Brown keeps constantly 
on hand, and will sell cheap for cash, at No. io Pine Street, the largest and 
best assortment of boots and shoes in town. Give him a call before pur- 
chasing elsewhere. m6 — im. 

The minister, happening to be a recent arrival, supposed that 
it was customary in that place to read from the pulpit adver- 
tisements of the business of members, and innocently added : 

" Brother Brown, I understand, is a very worthy member of 
this church, and I have no doubt will deal fairly with any of 
the congregation who choose to patronize him." 

It may not be improper to state just here that for a paragraph 
in a newspaper to appear exactly opposite a paragraph of the 
same dimensions on the reverse side of the sheet is almost as 
rare as a total eclipse of the sun observable simultaneously in 
England and New Zealand. In the first place, a sheet ought 
to ' ' register ' ' as nearly as possible in the process of printing — 
that is, the forms in their turn should be so accurately placed 
on the press that the column on the one side and on the other 
would be exactly opposite each other, and that the heads of 



HUMORS OF JOURNALISM. 2F9 

columns on either side should be an equal distance from the 
edge of the paper. His aim often fails ; but even if it hits- 
perpetually, the chances are that not once in ten thousand days 
of the existence of a paper will two paragraphs of just the 
same size, same number of lines, and, above all, in the same 
size of type be found precisely opposite each other on the same 
slip clipped from a newspaper. But that it may occur and has 
occured is proved by the following two items, the first of which 
I once clipped from a Boston paper, afterward finding the other 
side up and scarcely knowing which item I had intended to 
quote in a column of miscellaneous paragraphs : 

Wills. — We have heard of a will admitted to 
probate written upon a paper collar, and have heard 
of one written with chalk on a barn-door ; but here is 
a new story : The will of Phebe Ann Woodward, 
late of Kennet Square, Penn., recently found written 
upon a new slate carefully enclosed in a box and 
locked up in a trunk, and dated May 9, 1863, has 
been admitted to probate. 

Among the novelties at the late Lyons Exhibi- 
tion were certain products obtained from the reed 
mace or cat's tail, a plant which is veiy abundant in 
marshy districts, but which has been utilized only to 
a small extent, for mats, chair-bottoms, baskets, etc. 
Some idea of the abundance of reed mace may be 
formed from the fact that France is capable of pro- 
ducing at least 100,000 tons of it yearly. 

This subject of the " other side " of a printed page reminds 
me of a subject to which, if I failed to refer, I might be con- 
sidered derelict as the writer of this work. I mean the " patent 
outside" business. I ought to explain it, because it has fur- 
nished one of the best jokes in the annals of journalistic humor. 
The "outside" of a country newspaper (its' first and fourth 
pages) is often made up of selections, stories, verses, para- 
graphs of general interest, humorous squibs, and so forth; while 
the "inside" (second and third pages) contains editorials, the 
freshest accessible news and the freshest advertisements. It 
25 T 



29O SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

seems to have occurred to some enterprising genius that one 
well-got up "outside" ought to suit equally well a large num- 
ber of country weekly journals, and a plan was organized, first 
in Chicago, I think, by which hundreds of establishments, dis- 
tant from one another, were furnished with sheets on which to 
print their "inside," the other side (their outside) of which 
contained well-selected and neatly-printed miscellaneous matter, 
always, of course, culled with a careful regard to neutrality, 
and, in fact, without reference to sectarian or political questions. 
Among the drollest effects, quickly visible to the practical eye, 
was the extraordinary dissimilarity in the mechanical workman- 
ship, — the "patent outside" being very clean, having been 
printed in a large city, on a cylinder-press, and the " original " 
"inside" with many typographic errors, having been printed 
in a country town on a hand-press. Now, the joke in this 
connection that went the rounds of the press, without regard to 
party, in the autumn of 1873, was to tne following effect : 

Hon. Wm. Allen was running for Governor of Ohio (and 
was afterward elected) on the Democratic ticket. The Repub- 
lican nominee was Mr. Hayes, then, I think, Governor of the 
State. Governor Allen, "Bill" Allen, one of the honest, old- 
fashioned men of the days of Jackson, was a powerful public 
speaker, with a voice like a raging thunder-storm. Some of 
the Republican papers, in the course of the gubernatorial can- 
vass, made sarcastic reference to Mr. Allen's tremendous voice, 
and one of them even printed this rude paragraph : 

We understood that after Governor Hayes takes some of the wind out of 
Bill Allen, he will be offered a position on the coast of Rhode Island to act 
as a fog-horn. 

This of course sounded well enough in a Republican paper, 
Allen being the Democratic candidate, but didn't look very 



HUMORS OF JOURNALISM. 29 1 

well in a strongly Democratic county paper. Yet, in such paper 
the paragraph appeared, being embodied in the miscellaneous 
paragraphs of the "patent outside" (used by the Editor, en- 
tirely unknown to his country subscribers), the compiler of the 
patent outside having forgotten that one of his first duties was 
to avoid sectarian or partisan allusions. The Editor of the 
country paper in question had a lively time of it explaining how 
such a disrespectful allusion to "Bill" Allen happened to be 
made in his paper. 

Sometimes two different reporters of a city daily happen to 
furnish the same item of news, and if the City Editor overlooks 
the matter a "duplicate" is the result. This is not a very 
serious matter, provided the statements in the two articles agree 
substantially, but when they don't the joke is certainly on the 
Editor. The following "duplicate" once occurred in a daily 
of which, I almost shrink from confessing, I was the City Editor 
at the time, and so morally responsible for the blunder : 

Boy Shot. — Yesterday afternoon Edward Farrigan, twelve years old, 
residing with his father at No. 633 Oxford Street, while playing with a pistol 
in an adjacent alley, accidentally discharged the weapon, and the bullet pen- 
etrated his left wrist, producing a very bad wound. Amputation of the 
hand will probably be necessary. 

Boy Shot. — This forenoon, while a boy named Charles Ellsworth, was 
fooling with an old shot-gun in Amity Place, Oxford Street, the weapon, 
which was not supposed to be loaded, was discharged, and a number of shot 
struck the right arm of another boy, named Edward Farrigan, who was 
passing along the street, making a slight flesh-wound near the elbow. 
Farrigan is fifteen years old, and resides at No. 633 Oxford Street. He is 
an errand-boy for Jordan, Marsh & Co. Fortunately the wound is not at 
all serious, but he had a narrow escape. 

The effect of getting portions of two articles, on two very 
distinct subjects, mixed in the making-up, is sometimes very 
ludicrous. For example, a country paper once contained an 
article describing a revival meeting ; and it proceeded to depict 
the burning eloquence of the preacher in this style : 



292 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Raising himself in the pulpit, and lifting his hands toward heaven, while 
his face seemed lighted up with rays of the glory of eternal life, he appealed 
to all to jump through the window. Having done so, he ran up the street, 
like a quarter-horse, with his nose scarcely an inch from the ground; bit 
two hogs and a cow, flew at Mr. Evans, and might have bitten him and 
inoculated him with the horrible poison, but for the fact that at this moment 
Mr. Sterling, the constable, appeared on the scene with a gun, and shot the 
beast through the head. He never kicked afterward. 

Here was a case in which the accounts of a revival meeting 
and the doings and death of a mad dog got ' ' mixed ' ' in the 
making-up. 

It is related of a country editor that in making-up his paper, 
a duty he performed himself, he got the closing words of an 
obituary notice interchanged with the last line of a bitter attack 
on a rival editor, with the following deplorable result : 

Leaving behind her a wide circle of mourning friends, she has bidden 
adieu to this fair world forever, and gone to that — greatest old rascal that 
ever existed ! 

The following is from a communication published in the 
London Telegraph, during the autumn of 1874 : 

Can any one tell me the meaning of the following paragraph, which I have 
taken from a contemporary, headed "Building Materials"? Mr. A. W. 
Chase, of the United States Coast Survey, in a letter to Professor Silliman, 
says he has seen a curious nest built by the so-called California wood-rat, a 
little dark-brown animal, described as an intermediate between a squirrel 
and a rat. These creatures live in dome-shaped structures made of twigs, 
bark, and grass, built either on the ground or in the lower branches of trees, 
and frequently ten feet high and six feet in diameter. The one seen by Mr. 
Chase was composed of large iron spikes, of which there were several kegs 
in the house, the spikes being arranged with their points outward. Interlaced 
with them were about three dozen knives, forks, and spoons ; a carving- 
knife, fork and steel ; the case, glass, and works of a silver watch, separately 
stored away, and several large augers. 

This curiously - constructed paragraph greatly puzzled me 
when I read it, nor am I sure that I yet quite penetrate it ; but 
I think there must be an "out " somewhere, or that the com- 



HUMORS OF JOURNALISM. 293 

piler, in condensing, failed to preserve the whole essence, as it 
seems to me that a material break in the thread thrusts itself 
out from the body of the story. Or, it may have been the re- 
sult of a "mixture," in which case the right story must have 
broken off and a fragment of the wrong one have stepped in just 
after the words, " The one seen by Mr. Chase was composed 
of—," etc. 

In the Philadelphia Ledger, a daily paper that is conducted 
pretty carefully, as a rule, I recently found the following para- 
graph, standing all alone, as it were, among some short miscel- 
laneous paragraphs under the general head of " Varieties : " 

Yet he seems to possess consciousness to some degree. He is sensitive 
of tickling or sharp tapping, and he exercises some power of resistance to 
any attempt to bend his limbs. He is, nevertheless, apparently asleep. 
Quinine applied on his tongue produces grimaces and other signs of disgust, 
and a loud noise made at the bedside will cause a quiver through his frame. 
The history of the case, as far as the doctor could ascertain, is that he had 
been drinking hard for several years, and quit it twelve months ago. He 
then took to drinking strong tea. Altogether the man has been one hun- 
dred days suffering, having been three weeks ailing before admittance to 
the hospital. 

A person knowing little or nothing of the process by which 
a newspaper is " got up " might " stop and stare " quite a while 
over such a paragraph. But the practiced eye sees at once how 
such a mistake may have occurred. It was probably a blunder 
in "making up," That is, the person who made up the form 
inadvertently got hold of the last paragraph of an account — 
probably three or four stickfuls — of a singular case of physical 
affliction and placed it on the imposing-stone among paragraphs 
of all sizes, of both an interesting and amusing character. 
Probably this was after all the most amusing item in the column. 
But mistakes will happen. Another, but less plausible explana- 
tion would be, that the compiler pasted a paragraph on " upside- 
down ; " but as the proof-reader would probably have detected 



-:u SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

this at once, the preponderance of probabilities is in favor of 
the former theory. 

A paragraph in a Philadelphia paper begins this ws 

Hospital. A young man, a singer in a cafe concert, was wounded daring 
the war in the head by a ball, etc.'' 

I had thought I was indifferently familiar with history, but I 
have to confess that I do not know in what age this " war in the 
head " occurred : nor have I the most distant notion of what it 
was about, who the combatants were or how it terminated. A 
war in a whole country is bad enough in its devastations, but 
condense a whole war so as to confine it within a human being's 
skull, and how the "poor head" thus made the battle-ground 
must hum ! I have suffered much, in various ways, but heaven 
grant that I may never be subjected to this crowning torture, a 

Sa 5 i r ':.:'. l :.-'.: \z:i zzztz : 
Av-_::': Mi;le: ; ::::: :ti:i_r^: : •■ VA-^ „:_:rs :..- i :;• r.e.-= ?:=— t : 

Thereupon, a contemporary, in the "commenting , ' mood, 
:u::e-= :zt z-irizzizz. a: i alls: 

A ::■:•: ::::.:7 r.e~ ii -r" zLlSz'.-z. ': _: 1: -'.■;■■ n~e r.'t -J ;■: r:-- .- 1 
cut in thin slices and hied in batter. A gallon of Boorbon whisky nicely 

r;^i:ti "' :Ar. ?"re: 7 ■ :::.: t ; --.:. :z::::i. ~ .ike:: i er i:. e Airier. -. _: " e 
;.-..-. -.:: fee -:~ zt:z e ;~- ei: rrt-: :I^-ki :: :;AceA iL±. 

For many years the " country editor " has been a fruitful sub- 
ject of anecdote, and almost as many stories are extant con- 
cerning him as there are of "an Irishman." It is of course 
needless to say that most of these stories are invented by jour- 
nalists in their mischievous moments, and also to add that many 



HI MORS OF JOURNAL!. 

of the most thoughtful, able and upright men of the nation 
One of the best stories of which the 
" country editor " is made the victim, and one which has very 
generally had the run of the press, is related of an editor some- 
where down South, who conceived a plan whereby to " beat " 
a rival editor. In accordance with his scheme, he hired a man 
to shoot at him, — and miss him, of course, — just before the 
time the two weeklies were to go to press, and he had an ac- 
count of the " attempted assassination" already written up, 
and even partly in type. Unluckily, the hired "assassin" 
did n't aim badly enough, when he fired from the wood just 
without the village, and brought the editor down, "severely 
wounded." The result was, the rival editor did publish a brief 
report of the affair, while the account already so carefully 
prepared, and which represented him as uninjured, wouldn't 
do to go in ; and so the paper of the enterprising editor had to 
go to press without a word about the " attempted assassination." 

Another good one is told of a " country editor " out 
who one day discovered a man hanging to a tree, dead, and 
ing to mak m of news an "exclusive," took the 

bodv down, concealed it and hung it up again just before his 
paper was to go to press. But unfortunately he was caught at 
it, and arrested on suspicion of murder. He had nothing to 
say on the subject in the forthcoming issue of his paper ; but 
the rival editor had, as he delayed his edition a short time to 
give an account of the affair, so far as then known, to which 
was appended this editorial remark: "We always did think 
this man was a murderer at heart ; now we have proof of it." 

One of the saddest things that ever happened a "country 
editor " is thus related : A Jersey editor had occasion to men- 
tion, in a complimentary way, a popular clergyman, " Rev. 
The compositor to whom was intrusted 



296 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

the task of making the corrections marked on the proof-sheet 
found that, unless a few letters could be omitted somewhere, he 
would have a good deal of trouble in the way of " overrunning " 
a long paragraph. He consulted the Editor, who substituted 
one or two short words for one or two long ones, and still the 
compositor said it would be difficult to justify the line in which 
Mr. Dougherty's name occurred. 

" Well, abbreviate the first name, then,'' said the Editor, 
meaning to make it " Jas." instead of "James." 

But the compositor had his own ideas of the abbreviation of 
the name of James, and the Editor was shocked, when the paper 
came out, to find that he had, in his complimentary notice of 
the clergyman, alluded to him as " Rev. Jim Dougherty." 

Hoaxes are sometimes perpetrated by newspapers, and about 
the first day of the fourth month of the year it is just as well to 
read the newspapers with great calmness. Many citizens of 
Boston, on one such occasion, walked down to the beach, in very 
bad weather, to view an immense whale there stranded, — which 
animal, I need scarcely hint, only existed in the lively imagina- 
tion of a reporter on one of the morning papers ; and not a 
few, a year later, called at the City Hall of that city to see some 
wonderful performing mice which had been presented to the 
Mayor by a foreign prince, and which his Honor, with a 
fatherly kind of love for the public, had decided to exhibit for 
a day or two — free of charge, of course. 

Sometimes papers commit the blunder — and feel very cheap 
over it — of publishing a man's obituary notice in advance of 
the important event calculated to call for any such publication. 
I was once connected with a paper that met with this misfortune, 
and the next day the subject of the notice, not only alive, but 
in unusually good health, came in and said that of course at 
some time or other he probably would die, and the notice would 



PRIMITIVE JOURNALISM. 2gj 

have to be repeated ; so he would be obliged if we would, just 
while we thought of it, change the date of his birth to the 2 2d 
of June, instead of the 28th of July, as erroneously stated in 
the published sketch of his life. It was another man of the 
same name, but not nearly so eminent, who had really died. 

In like manner, editors sometimes write notices of theatrical 
performances without having seen or heard from such perform- 
ances, merely surmising "about what they were like " from the 
previously-published advertisements. This works well enough 
except when there is an entirely unanticipated change of pro-' 
gramme, and the Editor compliments several actors in " Our 
American Cousin" at the So-and-So Theater last evening; 
whereas, owing to the sudden illness of a leading actor (one of 
those so highly praised), it was not played at all, a piece of an 
entirely different character having been substituted. I have 
known of such sad occurrences more than once, and when they 
do happen the Editor is so mortified that nearly a week elapses 
before he feels like asking the Manager for six reserved seats. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

PRIMITIVE JOURNALISM. 



WHEN a newspaper is started in a country town, no 
matter how weak its editor may happen to be, no 
matter how defective its make-up, no matter how crowded with 
typographic errors its columns, no matter how bungling • its 
press-work, it is still a step" in the right direction. It is a step 
toward the dissemination of news and knowledge, and the in- 
terchange of thought; toward inviting and encouraging the dis- 



298 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

cussion of important questions affecting the general welfare; 
toward spreading enlightenment, and dispelling prejudice, igno- 
rance and superstition. A newspaper is always a step in the 
right direction ; and the man who has built one up where there 
was none before, is, like him who has caused one blade of grass 
to grow in a spot where before all was barren, a public bene- 
factor. Nor do I believe that any one ever yet started a news- 
paper with the deliberate intention of doing public harm with 
it, even for his own aggrandizement. 

Fifty years ago newspapers labored under many difficulties 
that have since been removed (parti cularl)- in large cities) by 
the invention and adoption of wonderful machinery ; but those 
same difficulties are still encountered by many newspapers in 
remote quarters of the country, the proprietors thereof pos- 
ing limited pecuniary resources. The defects often extend to 
the editorial, as well as the mechanical, department of the 
country paper; and indeed it would be unreasonable to expect 
from the editor of a country weekly the same keenness, fore- 
sight, readiness and judgment we find in the editor of a city 
daily. The "country paper" and the " country editor," 
therefore, as hinted in another chapter, frequently become the 
subjects of humorous allusions, but are far from being the sub- 
jects of contempt. I see something to admire, something to 
respect, in the poorest and weakest editor of the smallest and 
most unpretending " country paper," for I find him laboring to 
add something to the good of his community, to enhance the 
knowledge of his neighbors, and to inspire them with senti- 
ments which, in all sincerity, he believes to be in the interr 
of truth — an4 he is much oftener right than wrong. 

On the Pacific coast, rude in its- freshness from the hand of 
nature, barely abandoned to civilization, by wild beasts and 
wild men, "Primitive Journalism" has held many a revel 



PRIMITIVE JOURNALISM. 299 

within the past quarter of a century ; and in the newspaper 
world of California, Oregon and Nevada, there is a free-and- 
easy, a jolly, reckless, devil-may-care spirit that must provoke 
mirth wherever it touches. It is rich in pointed expression, in 
blunt words whose meaning cannot well be mistaken, in state- 
ments entirely ingenuous and unambiguous. 
For example, a Nevada paper says : 

The many friends of Bill Thompson will regret to hear that he was 
hashed up by a catamount the other day on Nixon's Hill, while lying in 
wait to shoot a Chinaman. This was always a world of disappointment. 

Hundreds of such paragraphs go the rounds ; and who can 
help smiling at the bold simplicity with which, in this case, a 
subject so momentous to Mr. Thompson is treated ? Who, too, 
wculd fail to gather from the tone of this paragraph that the 
loss of Bill Thompson (probably a desperado) was not exactly 
regarded as a public calamity ? 

There appeared in a San Francisco paper, a few years ago, a 
burlesque account of the editing a country paper on the Pacific 
coast, written by a humorist — " O. Job Jones" — who never 
attained the distinction of an Artemus Ward, a Mark Twain 
or a Josh Billings ; and although it goes into the regions of 
hyperbole, there is in • it an air of naturalness suggesting that 
its author had "been there," and which also suggests that it 
would not be out of place in this chapter : 

THE WEEKLY THUNDERGUST. 

BY O. JOB JONES. 

Tired of the restrictions of life in the city, where one is surrounded by 
courts of justice, magistrates and policemen, We decided to go to an interior 
town and start a country newspaper. We chose for the scene of Our jour- 
nalistic labors the rising town of Revolverville, and soon established there 
a first-class paper, which we styled the Weekly Thundergust. 



300 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

In the same town there was already published a weekly " sheet" of despi- 
cable characteristics; it was known as the Blunderbuss. It was a political 
paper; and We, of course, in starting Our own ably-conducted journal, 
took strong political grounds on the opposite side. We launched out under 
difficulties, to be sure. We were not cursed with "dead loads" of "col- 
lateral," and were obliged to come before the public in a spirit of modesty. 
We possessed but a little over a quart of type, both upper and lower case, 
and a small copying-press, which We were able to run without assistance ; 
and with these limited appliances We could only appear before the public 
with a four-page sheet, quarto size. 

We were, of course, sole editor and proprietor; We employed Ourself as 
foreman and compositor; We were Our own boy; and We did Our own 
press-work. Besides all this, We canvassed for subscribers, solicited adver- 
tisements, collected bills, and attended to the mailing department. The 
disbursing of the establishment was also one of Our own duties. 

Despite all the disadvantages under which We labored at the beginning, 
Our paper prospered ; its circulation swelled to one hundred and thirty- 
seven in the short space of two months, and We gave Our patrons a treat 
by enlarging it half a column. To say that "things went on swimmingly," 
would fall as far short of an adequate expression as it would be trite ; so, 
We won't say it. 

However bitterly We and the editor of the Blunderbuss hated and reviled 
each other in a political way, we were socially and fraternally on intimate 
and friendly terms, ever ready to lend each other a helping hand in the 
way of getting our papers out. For example, should one run a little short 
of letter of any particular kind, he had no hesitation about going to the 
other and borrowing some to help him out of a tight place; and when he 
got stuck on a word he came to Us in the most brotherly manner and was 
granted free access to Our Dictionary ; while We were always at liberty to 
visit his establishment and refer to his copy of Smith's Grammar, or the 
eight exchanges that shed a ray of journalistic light over his sanctum. 

But in our editorial columns we uniformly painted each other with the 
blackness of darkness, charging our pens with the bitterness of gall and 
the gall of bitterness. 

One day, feeling in an unusually happy mood, We penned a scathing 
rebuke to the Blunderbuss^ in which We blackened the character of the 
editor, traced his pedigree, and called his grandmother anything but a 



PRIMITIVE JOURNALISM. 301 

gentleman. In our enthusiasm, We made it rather longer than our leaders 
usually were, so that, when it came to be set up, it about cleaned out Our case 
of five-line pica, — a commodious size of type which We were in the habit 
of using in Our editorial columns. In fact, Our letter of this size ran out, 
and We were obliged either to substitute a few of another size, — and We 
had nothing nearer than minion, — or go to Our bitter friend, the editor of 
the Blunderbuss, and borrow what We required. We needed the letter " d," 
to complete the word " black-hearted," having used an unusual number, 
with dashes between them, in the course of Our allusions to Our contempo- 
rary. We also lacked the "r" in " liar," and the "y" in "double-dyed." 

So, laying down Our stick, We left Our article in type and went over to 
the Blunderbuss office, across the street — very hastily, too, for it was near 
Our time of going to press. We readily obtained the letters We wanted, 
and returning to Our rooms We discovered that some fiend in human form 
— it may have been the " devil" of the Blunderbuss — had actually entered 
Our sacred composing-room in Our absence and carried off the type in 
which We had just been setting Our leader, We having left it nearly 
finished, as stated, on a galley. 

Appalled at this startling discovery, We rushed frantically across the 
street again and communicated the heart-rending intelligence to the editor 
of the Blunderbuss. 

"Too bad ! " he exclaimed, with a kind-hearted oath. " Do you think 
you can find the rascal ? Here, take my revolver! " 

"No, no; not now!" We said. "Next week I will take a holiday, 
hunt him up and shoot him." 

" Well, what can I do for you? I will lend you whatever type I can, — 
or," said he, as a bright idea seemed to strike him, " I can lend you some 
excellent matter already in type which has been crowded out of the Blun- 
derbuss by a whole column of • ads.' that came in a little while ago. Just 
the thing, — several able articles, — take whichever you want. You will 
have no bother with it. It has already been corrected and is ready for the 
press." 

"Glorious!" We exclaimed, with animation. "An article of two or 
three stickfuls will do. What are the subjects ? " 

" Well, there is one poem of eight verses, on ' Friendship.' " 

" O, confound the poetry, — and friendship, too; I don't believe in it! 
What else?" 
26 



302 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

*' An editorial on ' Chinese Immigration as one of the Fine Arts.'" 

" That may not be consistent with the tone of the Thundergust. Any- 
thing else ? " 

"Yes; a very elaborate article on 'Julius Caesar,' contrasting him with 
P. T. Barnum and George Francis Train." 

" That 's the thing ! Where is it ? " 

The editor went into his composing-room and soon returned with the 
article in type, — which was just about what We wanted, — and without 
even looking at it, trusting to the good taste of Our contemporary, We 
rushed across the street, placed it on Our imposing-stone, with Our other 
matter, made up Our paper, locked Our forms and went to press. 

In another hour Our paper for that week was issued. 

Heavens ! " Horrors on horror's head accumulate ! " What were Our 
consternation and chagrin at discovering that the borrowed article We had 
laid before the public was not, as the perfidious editor of the Blunderbuss 
had represented, an essay on J. Caesar, but a most withering dissection of 
Ourself — Us, the editor of the irrepressible Thundergust! — and this poison- 
ous load of invective against Ourself had appeared before the public in Our 
oWn editorial columns ! It was sickening to the journalistic soul to think of it ! 
- As an example of the barbarous style of the editor of the Blunderbuss, 
We quote it : 

" The Editor of the Thundergust — Who, What, Where, 
and How He is. 
•'This would-be demagogue — this creature (we cannot style it a man) — 
this concentrated batch of moral corruption — this hideous monster whom it 
were base flattery to call an alligator, crocodile, terrapin, mock-turtle, frog, 
toad, scorpion, bumble-bee — that at present scourges this honest and intel- 
ligent community, is named o. job jones. Of course, it must have some 
name. It lacks even the poorest traits of the common cur ; a bull-dog is 
dignified compared with it! It has not the common instincts of a cat; its 
clothes fail to fit it ; it is unable to dance ; it is ugly, hateful, abominable — 
red-faced, red-nosed, red-mouthed, red-eyed — anything but read in com- 
mon decency ; it stole cents from its grandmother when a boy (a pity it 
has not retained them, for it has none now) ; it swears, lies, cheats, steals, 
gambles, gets drunk every night, and breaks other commandments too 
black to mention! Its very dishonesty is the brightest spot on its character! 
It would murder, did not its cowardly heart restrain it. But we shudder to 
think that a strict sense of duty has compelled us to pollute ihese pure col- 
umns with its name! Why waste further words on it? However, what 
better could be expected of the party with which this wretch is identified ? 
We pause for a reply." 



PRIMITIVE JOURNALISM. 303 

The discovery of this horrible item in Our own columns came near par- 
alyzing Us. We felt that it would prove Our ruin. Yet We were mis- 
taken. It actually built Us up ; for while many who read the article, be- 
lieving it to be genuine, and accordingly giving Us great credit for truth and 
candor in speaking of Ourself, others perceived that We had been the inno- 
cent victim of a shameless trick; public sympathy was enlisted in Our 
favor, and in two short weeks Our circulation had swelled to one hundred 
and ninety-eight, and We had a column and three-quarters of advertise- 
ments ! We also had seven papers on Our exchange list. 

What might have been the end of this prosperous state of things, had it 
been allowed to go on, it is impossible to say. But, alas ! an evil day came, 
and misfortune overtook Us ! One day, about a month later, when local 
items were scarce, We very injudiciously published a little fictitious story 
concerning the wife of a prominent citizen, reflecting slightly on her char- 
acter, and some were foolish enough to get indignant about it. The hus- 
band was absent at the time, or he would probably have put Us to the incon- 
venience of killing him; but the " citizens " waited on us in relation to the 
matter. Quite a concourse of the bloodthirsty rascals — two of her brothers 
among them — collected in front of Our office, calling loudly for Our gore, 
while a delegation of nine, bringing with them a good, substantial rope, 
entered Our sanctum and urgently invited Us out to deliver a brief address 
to the mob. Luckily We had seen their approach and taken measures to 
avoid this honor. We had raised Our back window and seen that the coast 
was clear in that direction, and We nimbly sprang out, and — the darkness 
of evening favoring us — made the best time on record in the direction of a 
thick grove of trees, which We boldly faced — leaving behind Us Our valu- 
able type, Our neat hand-press, Our manuscripts, Our money — $1.35 — and 
Our hat. 

As a matter of course, it would not have been safe for the people of the town 
had We exhibited Our intelligent countenance in that vicinity again, so We 
have not been heard of since ; but We subsequently succeeded in obtaining 
a copy of the next week's Blunderbuss, in which was a full account of Our 
exodus and the circumstances attending it, and in which the editor had per- 
petrated a coarse and cruel jest concerning Us, to the effect that We had 
become imbuecfwith piety, stopped publishing a wicked political newspaper, 
and gone to making tracks. 



304 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

OUR DAILIES AND WEEKLIES. 

I THINK there is in this country an aspect of newspaper enter- 
prise that amounts to grandeur. Not that we are free from 
grave defects ; not that even our ablest journals might not in 
some respects improve their style ; not but that things are done 
and allowed in many of our newspaper establishments that 
ought not to be done and allowed ; not, in a word, that we 
have arrived at perfection, an attribute that does not seem yet 
to have fastened itself upon any human being, in any sphere or 
vocation; but because, in our impatient thirst for news and 
new ideas, we have penetrated the remotest spots of earth and 
the deepest mazes of science and thought. When a newspaper 
establishment sends an expedition to the heart of Africa, in 
search of a scientific explorer whose fate is doubtful, and even 
succeeds in its object (as in the case of the Stanley expedition, 
sent out by the New York Herald in search of Dr. Living- 
stone), it does an act worthy of the dignity of a nation. 

Many other instances might be mentioned in which immense 
expenditures of money and talent have been freely made by 
American newspapers in the interests of science, benevolence, 
civilization, accounts of which read almost like fiction. 

I have already said that the weekly journal may be conducted 
as a pastime, compared with the daily ; yet it is a great work 
to conduct even a weekly as it ought to be conducted. But it 
is the daily that is the giant. It is the daily that lifts up its 
mighty proportions, as it were, the Temple of Thought. It is 
the daily whose voice, like the waves breaking with end- 
less murmurs upon the sand, is speaking all day long, and 



OUR DAILIES AND WEEKLIES. 305 

through the deep still hours of the night, making and molding 
public opinion, and almost saying : " I reign." Once I walked 
through the press-room of the New York T?'ibu?ie with a well- 
known literary gentleman, who stopped and, with a thoughtful 
expression upon his poetic face, pointed to an eight-cylinder 
press that was thundering away and sending the rapidly-printed 
sheets into the folding-machine, remarking : 

" Hercules was a fool to that •! " 

"It is through much tribulation that we enter into the king- 
dom of heaven," says one of the apostles; and it might be 
added that it is through much more tribulation that a man ever 
reaches either intellectual eminence or financial prosperity in 
running either a daily or weekly newspaper. The most con- 
stant attention and the most careful supervision of details are 
necessary to lift a paper up to a standard of respectability and 
to financial success. Eternal vigilance must be exercised to 
keep its columns pure and to exclude from them such question- 
able matter as might make it worthy of popular condemnation ; 
and its finances must be managed with the most delicate care. 
The expenses of a newspaper — especially a large daily — are 
enormous, amounting in some cases to between twenty-five 
thousand and thirty thousand dollars a week, and the calcula- 
tions for a margin of profit must be well made, as an excess of 
expenditure over receipts would soon destroy the equilibrium of 
such an institution, and possibly lead to a general crash. 

The expenses of a weekly are proportionately smaller, but 
assiduous work is necessary to success. Among the various trials 
that editors of papers — particularly weeklies — have to endure, 
is the work of reading many manuscripts, both "communica- 
tions" and "voluntary contributions" from persons whose de- 
fective style is mainly due to the fact that they are wholly unac- 
customed to writing for the press. Sometimes the Editor is 
26* U 



306 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

seized with a spirit of malice, and publishes an average "con- 
tribution" as his only means of being revenged upon its writer 
for boring him. Here is an example of this kind from the 
Philadelphia Sunday Times, and it shows what kind of "stuff" 
an editor is daily called upon to read and "do something or 
other with " in the process of separating the wheat from the chaff: 

TO A FRIENDE. 



BY J. S. 



Do you remember those happy hours 

of the by-gone olden time 
when side by side we gathered flowers 

or murmord some sweet old rhyme 
often those hours do haunt me 

and in fancy i linger still 
where the silvery sun floshed so clear 

from the shade of those Lovely hills. 

The trouble is, there are too few people who have a proper 
sense of what the true mission of a newspaper is. Many seem 
to think that its columns should be given up at random to Tom, 
Dick and Harry, for the insertion of trash, such as the above 
"poem," or in the still less pleasing shape of "communica- 
tions " on subjects personal, and not touching the general wel- 
fare. " The true business of a newspaper," says the Worcester 
Spy, "is to publish the news, report what is going on in the 
world and discuss questions of public interest." This is the 
case in a nutshell. The Editor does not do his duty to his sub- 
scribers if he does not endeavor to give all the news possibly 
obtainable, with careful and impartial editorial opinions, and 
to such matter give the precedence over everything approaching 
the sphere of trash. 

In the United States more than in any other country news- 
papers are read by the masses, and here the papers are more 



OUR DAILIES AND WEEKLIES. 307 

numerous, grow to larger proportions, generally, and have a 
wider range than newspapers in other countries. "Nothing 
interests the American more in Europe," a well-known Amer- 
ican journalist writes from London, "than the curiosity of the 
people of all classes in regard to the United States. It must be 
confessed that there is far more knowledge of the older nations 
in our country than there is among the Europeans in regard to 
us. The average American is more fully posted upon matters 
of government and society abroad than the average Englishman, 
Frenchman or German, and this results from several palpable 
influences, of course, the inquisitive spirit of our people, and 
chiefly to the vigilant attention paid to foreign matters by our 
newspapers." There is a great difference between American 
and English newspapers. The latter, while aiming to be truthful, 
dignified and impersonal, are heavy and dull. The American 
journals, while going the whole length in news-gathering enter- 
prise, find space for " spice," and nearly all have their little 
"squibs" in the editorial columns, and departments of light 
paragraphs, original and selected, with some such head as " Odds 
and Ends," "All-Sorts," "Chaff," "Frivolities," "Varieties," 
"Jocosities," or "Fun." Our weeklies especially devote a 
fair share of space to the "rich" things that are "going the 
rounds," and many of them give in each issue a column of 
humorous paragraphs as productive of healthful mirth as a first- 
class comedy. 

I believe the American newspapers do no great harm by 
making their readers smile; but if it is an offense so to do, it is 
one of which the English press is seldom guilty. True, the 
English have their humorous papers, such as Punch, Judy and 
Fun, which occasionally "get off good things," but, take them 
one day with another, they are very grave compared with the 
American humorous papers. If you pay threepence for Punch, 



308 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

and if you get your <' threepenny 'orth" of fun out of it, you 
certainly get a dollar's worth of the article out of a ten-cent 
American humorous paper. 

I have been led to make these comparisons because an Eng- 
lish gentleman not long since saw fit to inform me that the 
papers "at 'ome " were incomparably superior to the American 
papers, adding, in a bantering way : 

" Why, in England, we laugh at the American papers ! " 

Upon the suggestion that probably they did "laugh at our 
humorous papers, which was more than we could do at the 
English humorous papers, ' ' he manifested a lively disposition to 
change the subject, and exhibited a sudden and wonderful in- 
terest in the weather, which he remarked was "bloody 'ot." 

I have made these allusions in no spirit of unkindness, for I 
am certainly without any shadow of prejudice against our Eng- 
lish cousins. I have among them many excellent friends, and 
they are a jolly good set of fellows ; but they cannot help giving 
at least full credit to the excellence of things "at 'ome, you 
know. ' ' 

The following, appertaining to the American and English 
press, and containing much information on the subject, I quote 
from Mr. Ingersoll's " Life and Times of Horace Greeley : " 

When Mr. Greeley arrived in England (in 185 1), the discussion of "the 
taxes on knowledge," which had for some time attracted much attention from 
the general public, had reached Parliament, where the repeal of such taxation 
had many friends. A committee, of which the Right Hon. T. Milnor 
Gibson was chairman, and the celebrated Richard Cobden one of the 
members, had the subject in charge, and requested Mr. Greeley to appear 
and give them the results of his experience and observation. He was 
examined at great length by the committee. The taxes complained of were 
an impost upon advertisements, and a stamp-tax of one penny per copy on 
every newspaper. The substantial portions of Mr. Greeley's examination 
were as follows : 



OUR DAILIES AND WEEKLIES. 309 

Your duty is the same on the advertisements in a journal with fifty thou- 
sand circulation, as in a journal with one thousand, although the value of 
the article is twenty times as much in the one case as in the other. The 
duty operates precisely as though you were to lay a tax of one shilling a 
day on every day's labor that a man were to do ; to a man whose labor is 
worth two shillings a day, it would be destructive ; while by a man who 
earns twenty shillings a day, it would be very lightly felt. An advertise- 
ment is worth but a certain amount, and the public soon get to know what 
it is woi-th ; you put a duty on advertisements, and you destroy the value of 
those coming to new establishments. People who advertise in your well- 
established journals, could afford to pay a price to include the duty ; but in 
a new paper, the advertisements would not be worth the amount of the duty 
alone ; and consequently the new concern would have no chance. Now, 
the advertisements are one main source of the income of daily papers, and 
thousands of business men take them mainly for those advertisements. For 
instance, at the time when our auctioneers were appointed by law (they 
were, of course, party politicians), one journal, which was high in the confi- 
dence of the party in power, obtained not a law, but an understanding, that 
all the auctioneers appointed should advertise in that journal. Now, though 
the journal referred to has ceased to be of that party, and the auctioneers are 
no longer appointed by the State, yet that journal has almost the monopoly 
of the auctioneers' business to this day. Auctioneers must advertise in it, 
because they know that purchasers are looking there ; and purchasers must 
take the paper, because they know that it contains just the advertisements they 
want to see ; and this, without regard to the goodness or the principles of 
the paper. I know men in this town who take one journal mainly for its 
advertisements, and they ?nust take the Times, because everything is adver- 
tised in it; for the same reason, advertisers must advertise in the Times. If 
we had a duty on advertisements, I will not say it would be impossible to 
build up a new concern in New York against the competition of the older 
ones ; but I do say, it would be impossible to preserve the weaker papers 
from being swallowed up by the stronger. 

Mr. Cobden. — Do you then consider the fact, that the Times newspaper 
for the last fifteen years has been increasing so largely in circulation, is to 
be accounted for mainly by the existence of the advertising duty ? 

Mr. Greeley. — Yes ; much more than the stamp. By the operation of 
the advertisement duty, an advertisement is charged ten times as much in 
one paper as in another. An advertisement in the Times may be worth five 
pounds, while in another paper it is only worth one pound ; but the duty is 
the same. 

Mr. Cobden. — From what you have stated with regard to the circulation 
of the daily papers of New York, it appears that a very large proportion of 
the adult population must be customers for them ? 

Mr. Greeley. — Yes; I think three-fourths of all the families take a 
daily paper of some kind. 

Mr. Cobden. — The purchasers of the daily papers must consist of a dif- 
ferent class from those in England ; mechanics must purchase them ? 



310 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Mr. Greeley. — Every mechanic takes a paper, or nearly every one. 

Mr. Ewart. — Having observed both countries, can you state whether 
the press has greater influence on public opinion in the United States than 
in England, or the reverse ? 

Mr. Greeley. — I think it has more influence with us. I do not know 
that any class is despotically governed by the press, but its influence is more 
universal ; every one reads and talks about it with us, and more weight is 
laid upon intelligence than on editorials; the paper which brings the 
quickest news is the thing looked to. 

Mr. EWART. — The leading article has not so much influence as in Eng- 
land? 

Mr. Greeley. — No ; the telegraphic dispatch is the great point. 

Mr. Cobden. — Observing our newspapers and comparing them with the 
American papers, do you find that we make much less use of the electric 
telegraph for transmitting news than in America ? 

Mr. Greeley. — Not a hundreth part as much as we do. 

Mr. Cobden. — An impression prevails in this country that our newspaper 
press incurs a great deal more expense to expedite news than you do in New 
York. Are you of that opinion? 

Mr. Greeley. — I do not know what your expense is. I should say that 
a hundred thousand dollars a year is paid by our association of the six 
leading daily papers, besides what each gets separately for itself. 

Mr. Cobden. — Twenty thousand pounds a year is paid by your associa- 
tion, consisting of six papers, for what you get in common ? 

Mr. Greeley. — Yes; we telegraph a great deal in the United States. 

From this time forth the unpopularity of " the taxes on knowledge " 
rapidly increased, and they were at length repealed. The people of Eng- 
land are very greatly indebted for having the Cheap Press so soon as they 
did to the Founder of the New York Tribune. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

ONE WORD MORE. 

W r HILE I have been vain enough, in the course of this 
work, to praise the calling in which I am myself en- 
gaged, to descant upon the difficult and valuable w r ork done by 
journalists, and to applaud the mission of Journalism, I have 
not been, and am not, blind to the imperfections of those (my- 



ONE WORD MORE. 31 1 

self included) who conduct this great institution — the Press. 
I am not visionary enough to hope that within this generation 
we shall reach Utopian perfection, but there are some faults in 
the newspaper world — as well as within every other sphere — 
that I trust may soon be corrected. Some of our journals have 
reached a point of purity, of dignity and greatness at which 
they stand up like monuments. Such are the journals that ever 
and always aim to be fair, courteous, truthful, never descending 
to rude invective, coarse language or personal abuse. I trust 
that the time will soon come when editorials dictated by per- 
sonal malice will be numbered with things obsolete. 

I want to see the time, even in this generation, when "dead- 
heading ' ' will also be classed among the things that have passed 
away ; when every editor will buy his theater ticket and pay his 
fare in the railroad car, like other people. 

Editorial "puffery" has already been abandoned by most of 
the advanced journals of the country, but is still an "institu- 
tion ' ' in the establishments of the several lower strata of news- 
papers. I would like to see that, too, become entirely obsolete. 
While the habit is fostered, the editor can no more be truthful 
and ingenuous than a lawyer pleading the case of a culprit 
whom he knows in his heart to be guilty. When the merchant, 
or any other business man, has anything to say in praise of his 
wares, or his professional qualities, let him put it in the form 
of an advertisement, over his name, that it may so stand for 
what it is worth, without the sign and seal of the Editor, who is 
so often called upon to vouch for things of which he knows as 
little as the oyster knows of the Nebulous Theory. 

I also yearn to see Jenkinsism rooted out of the field of Jour- 
nalism, where it never properly belonged. It is a vile weed ; 
like Interviewing, it has sprung up in a night ; may they both 
be plucked up and cast out in the light of day ! 



st< 



312 SECRETS OF THE SANCTUM. 

Bohemianism ! I scarcely know what to say, to wish or to 
hope concerning it. Certainly it is a less objectionable feature 
of journalism than the two just mentioned. Well, let it rest. 
It is an episode in journalism, rather than a thing belonging to 
it, and it may one day disappear along with some other uncom- 
fortable grades of society, as society itself reaches, by many 
gradations, clearer perceptions of the "fitness of things." 

I want to see — might I say, above all ? — the time come when 
the tone of a newspaper may never once be dictated, or prejudiced 
"in the estimation of a hair," by financial considerations — 
when every journal will speak just as boldly against abuses 
practiced by a corporation that advertises extensively as it 
would if that corporation did not advertise at all. 

I long to see the time when "servility " shall have ceased; 
when no man, or set of men, or party, or power shall dictate 
the tone of a journal to the end that it shall waver one hair's 
breadth from sincerity and truthfulness. 

It is much to hope for ; but I do hope for these things, believ- 
ing, yes, knowing, that my hopes shall ultimately be realized. 
We are all moving in the direction of light j standing on the 
hill-tops, intellectual men should be the first to catch its glim- 
merings ; they will be ever ; and the time must come, and 
soon, when the Press of our country will be nearer perfection 
than now — when nothing vile, or little, or mean will remain 
to cast even a shadow of reproach upon journalists, the men 
who walk in the van of Progress and live and move in the 
domain of Thought. 



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